Searching for Emptiness
by x Varda x
Summary: Complete! After Rodney is brutally tortured, can he get back what he lost? Aftermath fic. Tag for my fics: Reavengeance and Reavengeance II - although it is not necessary to have read them. Ever so slightly AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Title** – Searching for Emptiness  
**Word Count** – 18-20k in seven chapters  
**Genre** – Hurt/comfort/angst. Rodney centric, gen. Set towards the end of Season 4.  
**Summary** - After Rodney is brutally tortured, can he get back what he lost?

**Author's Note** _– The sequel to my other fics Reavengeance and Reavengeance II. After a prod from crashbarrier to not leave Rodney still suffering like that! Although it's not necessary to have read either of them as what happened to him is explained within the fic. The second one ended with Rodney being terribly damaged, both physically and emotionally, after being captured, tortured and left to die by Michael._

_He had some level of recovery at the end of Reavengeance II, but he was in a catatonic state for a couple of weeks, before he broke down and snapped out of it after Sheppard spoke with him on the pier. This is a continuation from there and follows the aftermath in more depth. Rodney may seem to be OOC in some scenes, but I went for anger (with bouts of depression) rather than woobie this time._

_Cross posted on LiveJournal and FF Net_

**Chapter 1**

Rodney walked along behind his team. The grass poked through the material covering his lower legs and he sighed in annoyance as he _yet again_ resisted the urge to scratch.

They were heading back to the gate after a completely fruitless mission. No lifesigns, no buildings. Nothing. Rodney absently fiddled with his scanner as the sun beat down on him. But it wasn't too hot or too cold. He reached up and pushed a finger through the gap in his tac vest to scratch an itch on his stomach. But it wouldn't go away and he had to desist when he felt a bruise forming.

His legs were really irritating him now. "Are we nearly there yet?" he called. "I think I'm allergic to this grass."

John, Ronon and Teyla glanced at him, but their expressions were blank and they quickly turned their backs on him once more and carried on walking.

Rodney shook his head dejectedly and pressed a few more buttons on the tiny device he held. His hand suddenly spasmed and the shudder made him drop the scanner into the long grass. He lost sight of it and shouted, "Hey, guys. Wait up!"

They carried on walking as though Rodney didn't exist. What if there were animals or the natives had managed to hide themselves from his constant paranoid lifesign scans? Rodney pushed the grass aside and cursed as his arms got grass poked into them and started to itch and smart as badly as his legs and belly. "This is ridiculous."

He eventually found the scanner with a triumphant, "Hah!" But the rest of his team were distant now. As he straightened up and could look above the grass, he saw that the gate was near.

Rodney ran towards them and tried not to snag his feet in the grass and trip, clouds swiftly rolled in and soon veiled the sun and blanketed the world in dull, menacing grey.

Sheppard paused by the DHD and began to dial. "Hey! Wait for me!" Rodney cried.

Rodney ran faster, but his right foot fell into a pothole big enough for him to be sent flying. He landed in the thick grass which cushioned his fall, but he was winded, not only from the running, but from the way his back had just hit something hard and painful.

He pushed himself to his knees and was startled to find the rest of his team standing right in front of him, looking on impassively.

"What the hell's wrong with you! Leaving me behind like that. Isn't the whole purpose of having you soldier types on these missions to protect and look after me?"

John came over and placed his hand in the centre of Rodney's chest and gave him a hard shove. Rodney fell backwards with a yelp. When he could finally open his eyes again, his team were no longer there with him.

He stood up and watched as the gate shut down. His team were gone! They'd left him behind! Rodney walked towards the DHD, but just before he got there, it exploded in a shower of debris, sending him sprawling on his back for the third time.

Rodney huffed and shouted, "Well, that's just great. Absolutely top class teamwork right there."

He stood up and made his way over to the broken remains of the DHD. He might be able to salvage something, or at least wait for them to realise they'd abandoned him to die alone on a desolate unpopulated grass world with little food and water.

He felt panic creeping up on him when he realised there was no way the DHD would ever work again. Unless Atlantis sent a Jumper through, he was going to die.

He turned around and was met by a figure with short white hair and sharp teeth. The humanoid sneered and glared at him through yellow eyes. He said, "Well, it looks like it's just you and me, Dr McKay."

Rodney's heart constricted in terror and his eyes widened in horror. "Michael!" He reached for his gun, but Michael ran at him too quickly and pulled out a long, thin knife. He stabbed it into Rodney's abdomen, running it all the way through him.

Rodney screamed and fell.

Michael looked down at him nastily with another thin knife already in his hand.

Rodney carried on screaming.

* * *

"Rodney! Rodney? It's okay, it's okay. Calm down. We're here, you're safe."

Rodney opened his bleary eyes and was met by a woman with blonde hair drawn back into a practical ponytail. He blinked and stopped thrashing. "Jennifer?"

She let go of his shoulders and John let go of Rodney's ankles. She sighed and drew a strand of hair that had become unsettled during Rodney's struggle back away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. "That's right. Another nightmare?"

Rodney nodded meekly. He suddenly realised that his hand hurt, along with his abdomen, back, legs and arms. He gasped, "Wh-what happened to me?"

John shared a meaningful look with Jennifer and pulled up the hastily moved chair and sat down. Jennifer refitted the cannula under his nose and behind his ears, and then reinserted the IV line Rodney had torn free.

John asked, "What do you remember?"

Rodney shook his head and then looked at John. "Y-you abandoned me!" He then redirected his confusion towards Jennifer, "Why are you stabbing me with needles?" He lowered his voice and growled angrily, "Haven't you poked me full of enough holes?!"

Rodney grimaced and suddenly he was assaulted by a vision of the interior of a Wraith Hive, so vivid he could smell the decay of flesh and blood all around him. There was fear and loneliness associated with it, but he didn't know why, and almost as soon as the image was there, it faded and he was back to the infirmary with John and Jennifer's worried faces peering back at him.

John sighed and looked away. "I know. I'm sorry, but you have to get better. You just have to."

Rodney merely blinked and felt himself slipping under from the drugs and exhaustion.

Jennifer taped down the new IV line and held his hand for a moment as she asked, "What were you dreaming about?"

Rodney furrowed his brow and turned his face away, shutting his eyes to avoid the questioning and pitying gazes of the people watching over him. For some reason he hated it, but he didn't have the strength to understand why, or to get away from them. Yet.

* * *

Dr Kate Heightmeyer sat in the chair and watched as Rodney slept and twitched. Restraints were attached to the bed, but were at present not holding him down. Reports were that he could become violent and aggressive during and immediately after his nightmares and the infirmary staff, any visitors and Rodney himself had to be protected.

Kate knew that no restraints would ever help Rodney to recover, so she had to find some other way to break through to him and make this new and altered, _damaged_ Rodney McKay come back to himself despite what had happened to him.

His unsound sleep ended in a gasp and small whimper. He cried, "Don't… no… please…"

"Rodney?" Kate leant forwards and when he didn't respond, she asked again more insistently, "Rodney?"

His eyes opened and he coughed with a wince. She held the glass of water near him and he sipped some using the straw. He frowned angrily after he realised what was happening and turned his face away in disgust at the attention caused by his vulnerability.

He then stared back at her blankly before he tried to move with a pained huff. His forearms above the sheet were well bandaged, and Heightmeyer knew that his lower legs and torso were too. The restraints Michael had used to hold him to the table pushed through his arms and legs, while Michael stabbed him and left tens of thin skewers in Rodney's gut to torture him for hours. One of his kidneys and his spleen had suffered too much damage to be saved. He was still on dialysis while he slowly healed.

Kate folded her hands in her lap and asked, "How are you feeling today?"

Rodney blinked, but his pale face remained otherwise unreadable as he regarded her.

She pressed him for a response. And based on how soon it was after Rodney had been brought back and woken up after his surgery, even just an acknowledgement of her presence would at least have been a start at this stage of his recovery. "I understand you spoke with John out on the pier yesterday. What did you talk about, Rodney?"

He looked back at her, but he might as well have been asleep, as he didn't respond or alter his unreadable expression. Kate tried for another twenty minutes to get some words from him, or any kind of reaction. But he stubbornly refused to give her anything to work with.

She would have go and have a word with John. If he could get Rodney to speak, then maybe he was the key to Rodney's recovery. She leant forwards and looked into Rodney's eyes as she said, "Well, thanks for your help today, Rodney. I hope you feel better soon, and I'll see you tomorrow."

As she left the room, Rodney muttered in annoyance, "I'm not talking to you, even if I'm stuck here until I can move again. Nope, not even if they tie me down like before."

* * *

John came by the infirmary later. Rodney was fast asleep from the drugs and his injuries, but soon woke up when John pulled the chair over.

"Heightmeyer says you're being a bit of a trial, McKay."

Rodney snorted and winced.

"Look, if you don't want her to help, maybe _I_ can? We've got to find some way to get your stubborn ass out of here and back to normal."

Rodney blinked and grimaced. He ground out, "Not talking to an under qualified quack about my childhood." He scoffed, "Or my _feelings_."

"Ah, so you _can_ talk. I knew it was in you. I know you don't appreciate anyone in the medical profession, but cut her some slack this time, alright?"

Rodney closed his eyes and turned his face away. "No, she can't help me and I don't want her too."

"Why the hell not, McKay?! Do you ever want to go back to work? You know: analysing new artefacts, on the edge of scientific breakthroughs all day, every day. Running around offworld, playing with spaceships and Ancient devices?"

"Blown up by Wraith… shot at… held... hostage…"

Rodney's eyes suddenly glazed over and he started to thrash and fight, like he was hitting out at an invisible foe. He smacked his hands against the bed, the wall behind, the table, and then upset the IV pole and tore the line out of his hand, spotting the white sheets with bright red blood. Like so many other things hidden below his surface, when Rodney McKay wanted to do something involving fighting, he was stronger than he seemed.

John stood up and held onto Rodney's shoulders, getting socked in the face and chest by hard and desperate fists for the trouble. He called out, "Keller!"

She came rushing over with a needle, but placed it on Rodney's bedside table and spoke soft words of reassurance and comfort to him while gently running her hand over his forehead and through his hair. Rodney gradually calmed down and came out of his involuntary violent state. He slowly stopped struggling. His eyes suddenly shifted from whatever he had been seeing, to focus on John and then Jennifer.

"Oh." He sighed in anger at his uncontrolled outburst and went limp and pliable in John's hands.

John helped Rodney to lie back, then let go and asked, "What happened there? Was it another nightmare? A flashback?"

Rodney ground his teeth and glared, but the pallor of his face quickly went an unhealthy shade of green just before he mumbled, "Sick..."

Jennifer grabbed a bowl, and with John's help, they sat Rodney up just in time for him to vomit into the proffered receptacle. He didn't lose much, because he had yet to eat any solid food. Mostly bile and water were expelled in the small amount he threw up, until he was dry retching and gasping for breath, the heart monitor beside the bed bleeping rapidly.

Once it had passed, Rodney sunk back down onto the bed again, shaking and weak. His sweaty face, neck and visible skin were so pale they were almost blindingly white. John gave him some more water which he sipped and then collapsed into the bed again.

John asked, "What happened?"

Rodney blinked at him tiredly. "Nothing you'd want to know and nothing I want to share. Ever. Now if you'll excuse me from your analysis of my many psychoses, I need to spend the next few minutes trying not to throw up again from the fun times that little bout caused."

He exhaled, moved his hands up to rest on the sheets covering his lower torso and shut his eyes, but John knew he was still awake.

"Rodney…" John sighed and looked away. "It's just… the bottom line is, if you don't get better, or even let people try to help you get better no matter how much you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge how much it hurts, you'll be sent back to Earth. I don't want that to happen, and I know for a fact that you'd hate it."

Rodney's face remained smooth, but John knew he could hear everything and he was listening. "We can't bear to lose you here. Not just for your brain, but for you as a _person_. I don't want you to go. Who else am I supposed to argue with? Teyla takes everything literally. Ronon would just hit me harder at the next sparring session."

Rodney opened his eyes and frowned at John curiously. He tried to smile, but wasn't very successful because he was so fed up with being stuck there. His eyes were burning like embers, even in the midst of how pale and ill his face looked. "Do what you want. You left me alone before, to die, I might add, in some excuse for an extinct civilisation's industrial estate. I want you to leave now. Shouldn't be too hard for you."

John stared at him intensely, "You know I can't do that, McKay. And I didn't abandon you. You were taken."

"Making excuses now?"

"No. But you know what happened. Think about it. I've got a feeling Keller's going to keep you in here for quite some time for you to do just that."

_Not if I can help it_, Rodney thought. Maybe if he annoyed them enough they'd have no other option than to release him, although it was pretty hard to get rid of anyone these days, John's stubborn refusal to go away a clear indicator. But he was damned if he going to allow everyone to fuss over him for hours and hours every day. He couldn't stand it. He could do everything on his own.

Rodney glared at John, but he didn't leave and he knew Rodney was too physically weak to make him. At least Rodney was angry and speaking now. As long as the anger kept on coming out and didn't turn inwards, John figured that he'd be okay in time.

He stayed there until Rodney's glaring eyes gradually lost the fire and his eyelids drooped and he fell asleep.

Once he was sure Rodney was unconscious, made obvious by the grunting snores and lopsided open mouth, John patted Rodney's shoulder lightly before taking up his sentry duty by his friend's side so that if ever needed anything else, he wasn't left to be alone when he woke. He vowed that no amount of McKay's misdirected wrath could ever shift him.

Michael was the one Rodney needed to rail against, but he was long gone. Probably manipulating more DNA as John sat there keeping Rodney company against his wishes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Jennifer leaned over Rodney as she removed his IV line and said, "Okay, I'm dialling the painkillers right back to just the oral ones, and I want to get you eating proper food today. I think you'll soon be ready to be released back to your quarters to carry on resting."

Rodney winced and squeaked as the needle came out with a sharp sting, but nothing compared to what he had already endured. Jennifer pressed a plaster down onto the back of his hand and held onto him while he regained his composure.

He wasn't sure whether it was morning or night, having just woken up from a fitful doze. Most of what he could remember came back to him in the half wakeful state between consciousness and the nightmares. But what he recalled was only in flashes of emotion: fear and pain and screaming, accompanied by the sour metallic stench of his own blood.

No windows in the infirmary told him the time, but the lights were on full, so he assumed it must be daytime. He glanced at his watch on the bedside table. Three in the afternoon. But time no longer had any meaning or significance for him, his sleeping pattern completely out of sync from being ill for so long. He wasn't even sure exactly how long he'd been in there, the days all blurring into one long endless haze of pain-nightmare-pain in the silence and boredom.

Jennifer looked down at him pensively and he gazed back at her nervously. Had he done something wrong? Why was she looking at him like that? Did he need more surgery? Was she about to cut him open again?

She squeezed his hand gently and furrowed her brow in confusion, "What, no protest? You haven't shouted at my staff for several days like you usually do."

Rodney huffed, "Should I?"

"It's just… it's not like you."

Rodney felt anger bubble up inside his chest and snatched his hand away. "Who am I then?!"

Jennifer stepped backwards, "Well, you're _you_. Just different, that's all."

Rodney closed his eyes. "Go away."

Jennifer rested a hand on his upper arm briefly. "Now that's more like it!"

He shook her off, it was bad enough having Sheppard wheeling him down for sessions with Heightmeyer nearly every day. The woman seemed to enjoy questioning his manliness, giving him no option but to speak to defend himself, often in anger. Besides. what could she do to make him talk about what transpired while he was Michael's captive, when he couldn't even remember himself? Why was she so interested in what he'd been through… was _still_ going through? His innermost thoughts and fears stayed right where they were. Inside. After all, that's where they belonged and they really were none of her business.

His fury grew as Jennifer kept staring at him and he finally snapped, "I said _go away!"_

She nodded. "Well, call me if you need anything at all. Your button's right there." She walked across the room and disappeared into the lab.

Rodney closed his eyes, exhaling a long breath in relief while waiting for the less potent drugs to make the pain increase. There was little change, so he grabbed the laptop Sheppard had sneaked in for him and buried himself in work. He checked over experiments and fired off scathing emails about how wrong everyone was and how right he was.

After a few hours, he began to feel tired and knew that he had spent his body's current allowance of awareness for the time being. He'd ploughed through every email and checked over just about every experiment and project running in the science department. The lesser drugs had already begun to make the constant burning pain take its toll on him. He knew he should call Keller to give him something stronger, but that would be admitting weakness and he was too stubborn for that.

No-one came and visited for him to have a go at, so he decided there wasn't really anything else to do but sleep.

So he shut down the computer and placed it next to the bed, and allowed himself to drift in and out of consciousness for a little while, until he was woken by an alarm.

He jumped and muttered, "Bad move. Bad move," when the sharpness of a thousand twisting knives ground into his belly and lower back at the movement. "Oh ow."

Jennifer ran past the end of his bed and Rodney called out above the claxon, "What's going on?"

She shouted back at him, "We're under attack! Casualties are coming in."

"When did that happen?" Rodney cried. He tried to get out of the bed, but he was restrained to the gurney by his ankles and wrists. Icy terror clutched his heart and constricted his chest, cutting off his airway and making every breath an exertion so great he could barely sustain it.

"Why am I tied down?"

"The nightmares, you were getting violent. We don't have time for it now."

Rodney grew angry, and as a gurney bearing a man came through the doors, he shouted, "Let me go!"

Jennifer and her team ignored him as they worked on the first bloody victim of the attack. The whole room shook at the sound of an explosion nearby.

Rodney squirmed and struggled, bruising his bound limbs in the process and wheezing in pain and panic. "Untie me! I can help!"

Everyone continued to ignore him as he lay there and the coppery tang of freshly spilt blood overwhelmed the anti-septic sterility of the equipment around him. He gagged and quickly swallowed to keep his stomach contents where they were.

Ronon and Teyla suddenly came into the infirmary, supporting an unconscious and blood streaked Sheppard. Two more gurneys followed them in, each bearing badly injured marines.

Jennifer was business like and triaged them all quickly, just before another explosion, closer this time, sent most people sprawling.

The citywide broadcast activated, "This is Colonel Carter. They've taken most of the city. All hands report to the Gate, we're evacuating."

The lights flickered and the walking wounded left the infirmary. Gurneys and equipment were loaded up and moved out, along with the injured who could not speak.

Rodney cried out, "Don't… No, don't leave me behind!"

Jennifer dashed out behind the last gurney, leaving Rodney alone. He pulled on the restraints and his gasping breaths got louder and louder as the emptiness pressed in around him. He whispered, "Please… no…"

Spots of blood covered the floor and walls and Rodney glanced along himself and noticed that his once white and clean scrubs were now spotted with blood. He starred blearily as he watched the spreading patch of darkness well up and coat his midsection, becoming deep red as it finally breached the surface of the bandages and cloth. His forearms were the same, and the red soon became so damp that it dripped down through the bandages and soaked the bed underneath him.

He shouted, "Help! I'm bleeding!"

No-one answered him or came to help. The sound of stun blasts reached him from the corridor and Rodney stopped moving and shut his eyes. If they thought he was dead, maybe they'd move on and leave him?

He heard footsteps walking into the room, and screwed his eyes shut and held his breath. But he couldn't stop the sound of the steady patter of his dripping blood onto the floor.

There was a growl and a snarl and the footsteps came closer, preceded by the bitter smell of decaying flesh and death. There was a quiet snuffling and Rodney tensed up when he felt the heavy breaths of the intruder right on his neck.

An unrelenting weight suddenly pressed down on his chest and he opened his eyes in horror to see that his attacker was a Wraith just as he suspected. The creature grinned malevolently down at him where he lay bound and helpless. But instead of feeding on him, like he thought it would, the Wraith used sharp claws to tear off the top half of his scrubs, exposing his half-naked, bloodied torso. It placed its claws just above the soaked bandage, right in the soft hollow beneath Rodney's ribs and paused.

Rodney managed to fill the tense silence, but his voice trembled, "What the hell are you doing? You… you over-dosed-on-peroxide moron?!"

He cried out in agony from the answer, as the monster raked its claws down his midsection, pulling the bandage off and gouging deep lacerations into the existing wounds.

Why hadn't it just drained his life force and killed him?! It was a Wraith wasn't it?

It left him there and went out of the room. The lights dimmed as blood flowed out of him and ran in torrents over his skin and down to the floor. Rodney panted and felt dizziness claiming him as he weakened, but he knew no-one was coming for him, so he gave into the darkness without a fight.

The world spun around and crashed, abruptly dissolving into the infirmary, whole and clean and as it had been before the attack.

Rodney blinked and gasped, "What the…?"

Jennifer was next to him again, looking at him intensely. "You were having another nightmare. Do you want me to call Kate or John down here?"

"No. I just…" His eyes suddenly caught sight of what Jennifer was holding her hands. "Are those…?!" He scrambled to get away from her, sitting up with a hiss and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Jennifer shouted, "Rodney? No, stop!"

But he'd already planted his feet. He struggled to stand, his weight too much for his abused legs to take after such a long period of inactivity. The wounds and muscle damage couldn't take it, so he fell down heavily and painfully.

He crawled instead, but didn't have the strength to get very far before he collapsed into a panting, furious heap, his limbs trembling from the exertion and his anger levels swiftly rising towards a full scale meltdown.

Jennifer and several nurses came over to him and laid their hands all over him, trying to get him back up.

He snarled and snapped at them, "Get off me! Leave me alone! I can do it! I just want out of here! Stop _touching_ me!"

He could still move his hands, even if the rest of his idiotic body was completely useless. He fought with them, even though he didn't have much of an impact, until his energy reserves were gone and he was too out of breath to fight anymore.

"I'm not going to _use_ the restraints, Rodney!" Jennifer said as she and her team supported him back to the bed and laid him down.

"Then why do you have them?"

"In case you get violent and we need protection. Or to protect you from yourself. You do tend to flail around and hit yourself very hard on the edges of the bed."

Rodney closed his eyes and shook, he was still breathing heavily, each breath pulling the wounds which seemed to cover him and resented any movement. He eyed Jennifer nervously where she was still holding the straps. She moved them behind her back and sighed, "Alright, no restraints anywhere nearby, but you have to promise not to get violent again or I won't have a choice."

Rodney nodded wearily and sunk down into the mattress.

"I'm going to get you some food. Nothing too heavy so that it doesn't aggravate the damage to your digestive system, but we'll see how it goes."

Rodney shut his eyes and relaxed into a shallow and troubled sleep, full of monsters and fear and blood, where he was always being left trapped and alone to face his fate.

Vague memories and images assaulted Rodney while he slept, he was unsure which were real as his mind played missions he was unfamiliar with, always ending up with him being abducted by Michael and chased down the halls of a Wraith ship by monsters with human faces. He remembered no more, only being on the pier with Sheppard and the pain and anger since then. But there was also a dark, featureless room in an industrial estate, which came back to him more often than any other image.

----------

"Wakey wakey sleepy head."

Rodney opened his eyes. How long had he been out? He was vaguely aware that days had passed and he was assaulted by memories of John and Heightmeyer trying to get some sense out of him. He also had a recollection of eating, or more like _drinking_ some sloppy substance along with the jello. And painful physiotherapy sessions which tried to work some strength back into his healing muscles to allow him to walk and pick things up again.

Jennifer was smiling down at him. She announced, "It's your big day today!"

Rodney frowned up at her in confusion.

She helped him to sit up and pushed the pillows behind his back to keep him upright. She said slightly less enthusiastically, "You're due out today. John's coming to pick you up in just a few minutes."

Rodney sighed and Jennifer frowned at him. "You do _want_ to leave, right? I'm sure you'll be chipper once you get out of here." She lightly touched his shoulder in a mock punch. "Can't be that much fun hanging around with me all day?"

Rodney said nothing and Jennifer eventually gave up and went to retrieve the wheelchair.

True to his word, John arrived later, along with Ronon and Teyla. They helped Rodney into the chair, while he huffed and grunted in anger at their constant annoying attention.

Jennifer came over and pressed a large box of pills into Rodney's hands. He held on as best he could, but still couldn't quite fully curl his fingers to maintain a strong enough grip. The wounds on his arms prevented the muscles from working properly and the pill box dropped to the floor. He watched it spin in the air and heard the landing clack like a gunshot in the quiet infirmary.

John bent down and snagged the lost pill box. Jennifer pursed her lips at him and then looked at Rodney, who still had his head down. "Remember to read the instructions and not to take too many. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all, and I'll send someone up."

"I'll make sure he knows," John said.

"Sitting right here," Rodney grumbled.

Ronon ruffled Rodney's hair and grinned at him, "That's McKay."

Rodney glared up at him and snapped, "Who did you think I was?"

Teyla looked at him and he thought he saw sadness and pity in her eyes. He turned away and screwed his eyes shut as he shouted, "Go away! All of you! Leave me alone. I'm not an invalid, nor am I suddenly completely stupid just because I can't walk or hold onto things."

He kept his eyes firmly shut as he sealed off his mind from the outside world. Words were spoken and he felt the sensation of motion, but he didn't listen or take heed of where he was until a voice spoke directly into his ear.

"It's okay, Rodney. The others have gone. It's just me now."

Rodney opened his eyes and was met by John Sheppard crouching down in front of him where he sat in the wheelchair. They were in a featureless corridor, which could've been anywhere on Atlantis. John was holding the sides of the chair where Rodney had his hands in his lap.

John smiled back at him when he saw the recognition indicating that Rodney was now out of his trance-like state. "I'm taking you back to your quarters. I've got a few DVDs lined up and then I thought we could call the mess hall for some takeaway. Keller said you can eat proper food now, but nothing too indigestible.

Rodney furrowed his brow at the idea of there being things he couldn't eat and John continued, "She gave me a list of all the stuff you can eat. It's really long. Ronon and Teyla are coming later, if you're up to it."

Rodney frowned and John elaborated, "They won't say a word if you don't want them to."

Rodney said, "I just want to be left alone."

"Okay, that's fine too. I'll still come back later with the food. I'm always on my radio if you need anything."

John straightened up and took up position behind the chair to carry on pushing Rodney towards their destination. Rodney asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"Why not?"

"It's what nurses are for. You're busy, got other things to do than chase after me."

John paused and sighed before he spoke. "Because it's my fault you got hurt and I have to make it up to you somehow."

"That's not true."

"What?"

Rodney closed his eyes, not that it really mattered. Even though he couldn't see, he still continued to move without his say so, and didn't have to worry about slamming into walls. "It's not your fault. It's mine. I should be better by now. In the labs working on s-something. Should've harassed the infirmary staff to let me go earlier."

"Super fast healing McKay? I don't think so. You're only human, Rodney. Give yourself a break."

"But I've always left early in the past, been back at work in a few days."

"You weren't nearly as badly injured before." John stopped outside a door, but Rodney didn't recognise it. "Your quarters."

Rodney reached out and ran his hand over the metal. It was cold to touch, and felt so unfamiliar it was as though he was invading someone else's private space, touching something that wasn't his and never had been.

The door slid open and John pushed him inside. Pictures and certificates hung on the walls, adorned with a name he recognised as his own. There was desk with a laptop and a coffee maker, and a bed with a thin mattress. Rodney looked around the room, but he felt detached, like he was looking at someone else's room, not his own. It was like coming back after a long holiday and somehow everything seemed brighter, darker, busier… just not how he remembered leaving it, and it was so much worse this time.

There was an unfamiliar smell about the place too, not anything too obnoxious, as the air conditioning took care of that, but it was enough to make him wrinkle his nose. If that's what his room smelt like, he wasn't sure he wanted to stay in there for too long.

John didn't mention it though and merely smiled down at him as he said brightly, "Home sweet home. Feel better?"

Rodney frowned deeply. "Not really. How long has it been since I was here?"

John walked away and pulled back the curtains to reveal the late afternoon sun streaming through the glass from in between the towers of the city outside. The light was almost blinding to Rodney, it had been so long since he had seen any daylight or brightness such as that.

"A few weeks." John sighed and came back over to him. He crouched down in front of him again and said quietly, "You were really badly hurt, Rodney. Keller was tearing her hair out, and if you've given me any greys I'll make sure you pay for it. When you're better of course. You nearly died."

Rodney hung his head down and grimaced.

John smiled at him and drawled patronisingly, "But you have to remember that you _didn't_ and you're on the mend. Things will come back to you, you'll feel better soon I'm sure."

Rodney said, "So people keep telling me. I want you to leave now."

John held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I'm going, but remember the radio if you need anything."

The door swished open and closed behind Rodney and he was alone. Finally, blissfully, _completely_ alone. He stood up and smiled savagely when his legs shook and hurt as he stumbled over to the window.

He shut his eyes and allowed the warmth of the sun to kiss his face. But there was still a block of ice and dread in his heart, which the light and heat couldn't break through to melt.

He sighed sadly when his legs informed him they'd had enough of lugging his heavy weight around and started to give way.

He knew then that no matter what everyone kept telling him, he really wasn't ever going to get better. The constant aching pain piercing nearly every area of his body assuring him of such. He shouldn't still be hurting and weak after all this time unless it was going to be permanent, should he?

He blinked when his eyes became clouded and he felt something warm running down his cheeks. He wiped the liquid away with his hand in disgust and gritted his teeth to stop the tears. He may not ever be whole again, but that was no excuse to turn into a useless gibbering wreck at the slightest thing.

He slowly limped over to the desk and poked at the objects he found. But he soon felt uncomfortable about doing that. None of the stuff felt like his and it was like going through a stranger's possessions.

He went over to the bed next and sat down, exhaustion dragging him down to sleep. He sighed heavily and swung his legs over, sinking down into an uncomfortable slumber, with dreams filled with faceless people sifting through and casting lots on things he knew were his, but he no longer cared about any of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Rodney panted where he was kneeling down on the floor in the middle of a room full of bodies. Blood steadily pooled around Teyla, Ronon and Sheppard, but none of the weapon's fire had hit him. He was unsure whether to be grateful or horrified, or even slightly terrified that he was the only one left now.

He tilted his P90 up at the man coming towards him, but a stun blast came from the shadows and struck him in the chest before he could pull the trigger. He fell backwards with a cut off yelp and landed in a crumpled, limp heap. He was still fully conscious, he just couldn't move.

The man stepped into the light and fear coursed through Rodney like daggers of ice running in his veins.

Michael.

The Wraith hybrid crouched down next to him and pulled out a syringe, he didn't even flinch as he jabbed the painfully wide needle into Rodney's chest so that it stabbed him in the heart. He depressed the plunger and Rodney's body convulsed uncontrollably as fiery pain spread throughout every vein, muscle and internal organ. It was so agonising, he couldn't even get sufficient breath to scream from it.

Michael withdrew the needle, which was so thick that it hadn't even snapped at Rodney's shuddering. He called out to some shadows that had appeared behind him, "Take this one to the experimentation chamber, and strap him to the table ready for me. Dispose of the others."

Rodney fell down into darkness.

* * *

"Why do you use the wheelchair, Rodney?"

He stared back at Heightmeyer defiantly and answered, "Because I can't walk and it hurts like hell."

Heightmeyer may be blonde, but he was in no way attracted to her. No siree, absolutely not! What with her harsh analytical exterior, piercing gaze and the lengthy interrogations she enjoyed performing on him. Maybe if she didn't spend every moment they had together questioning his sanity, while trying to trick him into revealing his emotions. Or maybe it was because she got so much glee from probing his mind for information.

"Is that the truth, or just what you believe?"

He narrowed his eyes at her and the light streaming through the blinds in Kate's treatment room cast deep shadows from across his pale features. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"Not at all. I'm just curious because Jennifer has told you that you shouldn't be feeling as much pain as you are, and that your physiotherapy is now at the stage where you should be able to walk with very little trouble."

"So you've been talking about me behind my back? How is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"You know all of these things already, Rodney. I'm hiding nothing from you, so why are you so defensive about it?"

Rodney folded his arms over his chest and glared back at her with his chin lifted, "I'm not being defensive."

"Well then talk to me. Why are you still insistent on using the wheelchair to get around?"

Rodney allowed his arms to drop down and folded his hands in his lap. He looked out of the window as he said, "I don't know why Keller discharged me from the infirmary. I still feel like crap."

"Go on."

He inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly, but noisily. "It's just… well, it _does_ hurt. But at least in the wheelchair, people _know_ that it hurts."

"And that you were tortured?"

Rodney tensed up and grimaced, "Don't use that word."

"Sorry. Perhaps I should say that you were held against your will?"

"That's not really any better."

Kate frowned at him and narrowed her eyes as she studied his face. She said, "So you're still using the chair so that people know you're hurting. But it's not just the physical pain they need to be constantly reminded about is it?"

Rodney sighed, "No. Being in the chair somehow makes it easier not to talk about it."

"So they see you in it… but surely you're more likely to _attract_ attention and pity that way, unless that's what you want?"

"Not really."

"Then why not get rid of the chair and be how you used to be?"

Rodney looked up from his lap where he had been twisting his fingers together and stared right back at her as he said in disbelief with a hint of sarcasm, "An arrogant man who always finds the very best thing about every situation?"

Kate gave him a small smile, "I'm not trying to make you an overnight optimist, Rodney." _That would be impossible._ "My role in your treatment is to get you back to how you were before _it_ happened, functioning and thinking the same way."

But Rodney knew that getting better and managing to do his work would put him in ever increasing danger. If that happened he would soon be signed off to go through the gate with his team again. He wasn't ready. He didn't ever want to be ready if there was a risk that he could be captured and held hostage again. Tortured to within an inch of his life and nearly losing his sanity from it.

Kate waited a little while longer, but Rodney said nothing. "You _can_ go back to how you were before this happened. And I already know that you have determination and resilience to do so. Stubbornness will be a big help, but you'll still have to follow my instructions."

Rodney's mind felt like no more than many tiny pieces forced apart by the spikes pushed into his body. He couldn't see how it could be put together as it once was. Could he ever be made whole and go back to the brilliant genius he once was? Kate seemed to think so, and she was the one who spouted all the psychobabble as she buried her claws in his head.

Rodney nodded slowly, wondering what mind controlling substances Keller was feeding him to make him suddenly so complacent and able to talk so openly. But then again, maybe he was just fed up with the nightmares and pain and needed to get it all off his chest. He'd reached such a low point that in desperation he was willing to try anything.

Evidently he _really_ needed the help if he felt like that.

* * *

Rodney grunted in frustration as he slipped out of John's hands where they stood in the gym. John was helping Rodney through the exercises provided by the physiotherapist, but Rodney seemed to be having a particularly bad day today.

Rodney's legs folded, and as he sunk down to the floor, he cried in despair, "I'm going to be like this forever!"

He shut his eyes and hung his head down, cradling his face in one hand while shielding himself from John by holding his other hand up. "There's no hope, just send me back to Earth and lock me up, there's no other option! I don't deserve all this attention. I don't deserve anything. I shouldn't even be alive."

John crouched down and grabbed Rodney's shoulders and held onto him tightly. "What the hell, McKay?! Why would you think stuff like that?"

"Because it's true!"

* * *

Rodney lay on the bed in his quarters and stared up at the ceiling. It was early evening and the sky outside had now blackened to full darkness.

He'd done as Heightmeyer suggested and tried to go without the chair for a few hours. But now his entire belly was nothing more than a pool of fire spreading its agonising tendrils throughout his lower half, down both legs and up into his chest. His legs throbbed in time with the steady heartbeat relentlessly hammering away against his ribs.

Surely if he could walk again, then he can get away from all these annoying people? The ones who keep on assuring him that if they poked and prodded and questioned him enough, he'd be fine, when all he wanted to do was run away from how pathetic he was. But his stupid, useless, betraying body wouldn't let him, at least not without making him curse and spit in bitter pain.

He muttered angrily at the ceiling, "Hop out that chair, _McKay._ You'll feel _so_ much better_, McKay. _Back on your own two feet again."

He glared up at the dark ceiling and gritted his teeth. He couldn't take it any longer and had to go into the bathroom where he promptly threw up.

He washed his mouth out and cleaned himself off before he stumbled back into the main room and collapsed onto the bed again. He shut his eyes, but all that he saw when he closed them was Michael standing over him holding a knife in one hand and a long, thin spike in the other.

Rodney's heart sped up and he opened his eyes, thinking the lights on with his gene. The lights did come on, but not as brightly as he wanted them too. A hazy figure was standing over the bed and Rodney's eyes widened in terror. He called out in fright, "What do you want? Who are you?"

The figure drew his hand up and thumped it down into the soft part of Rodney's midsection, right over the most painful place where his spleen had once been. Rodney cried out in agony and his eyes streamed from the pain. "Wh-who…?"

The figure coalesced into a full Wraith. It was Michael as he had once been before the Lanteans had tried to change him into one of them. He drew back and then brought up both his hands and plunged a spike as thick as Rodney's forearm down into Rodney's stomach. He tensed up briefly as sparks of light danced around the edges of his sight. The pain was intense and sharp and it consumed both his body and his soul in that single brutal stab. Then there was nothing.

Rodney opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling in his quarters. He glanced across at the clock and saw that it was 1am. And he knew then that he would get no more sleep tonight as morbid and painful thoughts chased themselves across the wasteland of his fragmented and traumatised mind. The haunting images fought for his attention as he lay there weak and vulnerable in his exhaustion as they tried to seduce him into thinking of them only, so that he would never think a happy thought ever again.

He tossed and turned, but only succeeded in twisting himself up in the covers, they clung to him and crushed him. Any moments of semi-conscious floating he ever had were soon torn away from him by memories that didn't even feel like his. Of being tortured and of agonising and endless pain and torment while he was tied down and alone while Michael ran spikes or knives or needles into his body, without mercy or an end to the brutality in sight.

He howled and writhed in his half wakeful dreams, never sure if he was asleep or if any of it was real. He screamed as he was cut and stabbed, although he was unsure whether the sound came from his physical body or just his mind. It happened over and over again, until he wasn't sure whether he was human anymore or just an animal being used purely to extract pain and blood in a never ending cycle.

In between the dreams his mind spoke to him in a loop of guilt and depression. _Why was I chosen? Why did he take me and hurt me like that? Is it because he chose the weaker one, the one he could get the most reaction and pain from? The one who would cause the most anger from the people of Lantea? But they didn't care about him that much, did they?_

Michael had seen it, even if he couldn't.

He lay there for hours, too depressed to move, and with only the surrounding nightmares for company.

Keller's sleeping pills helped to an extent, but it was still like this every night and he could see no end to it. Unless someone could invent a machine to extract all of his memories and emotions so that he would become nothing more than a hollow empty shell to start all over again.

_Start all over again…_

"Of course!" Rodney sat up in bed and shook off the remnants of the last nightmare. "The ascension machine! If I can get my DNA changed again, I can fix the scars and get rid of the pain. Good as new!"

Rodney pushed the covers back and pulled on his clothes. It was 4am now, so not many people would be about to see him. But the pain was so intense he soon collapsed back down onto the bed and breathed heavily, concentrating on the pulsing throb in his midsection, arms and legs where he had dared to move. He couldn't face getting up again, if ever. It just hurt too much. His long sigh ended in a frustrated growl, but he soon gave up and just lay there doing nothing for hours and hours, the fear of the nightmares returning stealing away his exhaustion and keeping him wide awake.

John eventually swung by at 8am, not bothering to knock. Rodney was still lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling.

"Time to go, McKay," John said, as he pushed the hated wheelchair over and helped Rodney up. "Food, check in with Keller, food, physio, food, off to Heightmeyer for another mental workout. More food. Sounds like an action packed day. Did you notice how much food's scheduled in there? More than the other stuff!"

Rodney groaned and clutched his middle, the pain suddenly so intense and sharp it stole his breath away and he started to shake.

John looked him over intently. "On second thoughts, Keller first today."

* * *

"Why are you still using the wheelchair, Rodney?"

"It hurts, I can't walk."

"Is that what Dr Keller and the physiotherapist have said?"

Rodney fiddled with his hands nervously and fell into a pensive silence, only broken by the soft hitch of his breathing.

* * *

The scanner tracked along Rodney's body where he lay on the bed in the infirmary. John stood off to one side, holding the handles of the wheelchair, like he was a taxi driver waiting for his fare to return.

Jennifer's smile broadened as the scanner finished tracing its path and a 3D image of Rodney's insides appeared on the screen. She turned to him as he gazed back at her in puzzlement. "Much better today. I should be able to sign you back to light duties soon."

Rodney grimaced, "Why does it still hurt so much then?"

Jennifer furrowed her brow down at him, "Where?"

"All over."

Jennifer frowned, "Well…" She glanced at the screen and pointed at the scan of his upper leg before looking down at him again. "What about your left thigh, does that hurt?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "No. But that bit didn't have a metal spike driven through it like a pincushion now, did it?"

"No, maybe not, but in that case it doesn't hurt all over does it?" Jennifer smiled at him as though she had just taken not only the biggest, but also the _last_ giant chocolate cupcake right out from under his nose in the mess hall.

Rodney sighed and conceded, "It's worst here," he moved a hand up and placed it directly over his stomach.

Jennifer nodded and studied the scan again, "The surgical incisions made while removing your spleen are almost fully healed. There's nothing there to indicate you should be in as much pain as you are."

Rodney bristled and John sensed a rant coming on, so he let go of the chair and moved closer. But Rodney was too fast for him, "You're just like Heightmeyer! You think I'm lying about it too?"

Jennifer laid a hand on his shoulder placatingly. "Of course not. I'm just trying to find out what's wrong to make it better. On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?"

"Eleven!"

Jennifer blinked at him and resisted the urge to roll her eyes with great difficultly, but she managed, "How bad, when ten is the worst pain you've ever been in?"

Rodney sighed and relaxed a little, "Maybe a seven?"

"Alright. I'll increase the meds, but I want you to move your next schedule with Dr Heightmeyer forward to this afternoon. I'll pass her all your records."

Rodney frowned, "You think this is all in my head? How could you think that?"

Jennifer furrowed her brow, "If I truly thought you were making it up, then I wouldn't be giving you these, would I Rodney?" she waved a new box of pills and handed them to Sheppard.

Rodney sighed and huffed, "Are we done here?"

Jennifer nodded and John wheeled the chair over. Rodney hefted himself up and grimaced as he stumbled over and then collapsed into the chair in relief.

* * *

"So you're in the chair because it still hurts?"

"Yes, I told you already, I can't walk."

"Your physio records and Jennifer's analysis of your scans show otherwise."

Rodney frowned at her in fury. "You've been reading through my medical records?! Who gave you those?"

"I'm your doctor, Rodney. Jennifer is healing you body…"

"And you're rummaging around in my mind?"

"If that's how you see it. But I want to know why you're still in that chair when you're already sufficiently healed and strong enough to walk around."

She suddenly dropped her pen on the floor with a loud clatter, but Rodney didn't move. She quickly retrieved it and made a note on her clipboard.

Rodney eyed her suspiciously. "What're you writing?"

"Just a reminder."

He lifted his chin indignantly, "So that you and Keller can compare notes about me again?!"

"In order to provide you with the best treatment? Yes."

Rodney sighed and looked away from her. His eyes glanced over to the wheelchair itself, sitting nearby like a faceless, looming monster. The wheels shone in the light streaming through the window and it continued to remind him of his ongoing and what he'd now come to think of as a permanent infirmity. But maybe that's what it was. He voiced his thoughts outloud. "It's not just for me. It hurts everywhere all the time. But no-one can see how much."

"And the chair makes them remember?"

"Something like that, yes. Physically it's not so bad anymore after those horse pills Jennifer gave me, but if feels like I'm going around in circles…" he trailed off, afraid of revealing too much and showing weakness.

"It's alright, Rodney. Go on."

Rodney sighed and shut his eyes in anguish. "I have these nightmares. Terrible, horrible nightmares about what happened. At least I think it's what happened, I can't remember anymore and they're all different."

"And you feel that the chair will help those around you to remember that you're hurt and still hurting. A constant reminder to them and yourself to tread carefully?"

"Yes. That's it."

"And how long do you intend to stay in the chair?"

"For as long as it takes."

"And if that's for the rest of your life?"

Rodney leant back in his chair and folded his arms as he said, "So be it."

"And what do you think the people around you think when they see you in the chair?"

Rodney gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes at her. After a few seconds his eyes suddenly widened and he said, "Oh… you think I'm weak and pathetic and not worth bothering with!" He looked away and gestured with his hands as he gabbled, "Everyone's thinking, 'Yep, there goes that Rodney McKay weakling. So pathetic, he broke under torture and never got better!'"

"Is that what you want people to think about you?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Then leave it behind and walk."

Rodney looked at the chair wistfully and his expression changed into one of realisation.

Kate suppressed a smile as she wrote on her clipboard: Full recovery anticipated in time. Light duties fine.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N – I know Rodney is OOC (who wouldn't be after what Michael did?), so I've relabelled this fic as AU. My usual disclaimer applies too - I know nothing about medicine or CBT. Thank you to those still sticking with this one and leaving feedback. I'd already written the whole thing before posting, and was sorely tempted to keep it on my harddrive forever (for my own fun) due to the above points. But if I've written it, why not share, eh?_

_Anyway... more angst, more angst!_

**Chapter 4**

A few days later, John caught up with Rodney as he headed down to the labs for another gruelling day shouting at his staff until they were on the verge of tears.

He grinned, but Rodney snarled back at him. "What the hell are you smiling about, Sheppard?" Rodney raised his eyebrows, "Oh, did Ronon do something to you in your last sparring session?"

John's smile broadened, "Well, yes, but not like _that_. Maybe I'm just happy to see you up and about and supporting that hide of yours on your own feet rather than on the wheels. Although it was quite fun pushing _you_ around for a change."

"Oh, har har. But my sides are already well split and stitched, Sheppard, so what do you want?"

Sheppard's smile faded a little and he asked, "Just wanted to know how you got on with Heightmeyer. Has she figured out what makes you tick and how to get you wound up again yet?"

Rodney huffed and stopped in the corridor so that he could swivel around and face Sheppard. "I am now a flower," he deadpanned.

Sheppard lowered his voice and looked at him seriously, "She can do that?"

Rodney quirked an eyebrow dangerously and folded his arms. "Do I _look_ like a wilting daffodil to you, Sheppard?"

John checked him over, "Hmm, not really." John suddenly stopped and pointed at Rodney's chest in horror, "Oh! No, it's too horrible… just… no…"

"What?" Rodney glanced down at himself in panic.

John started grinning again. "Sorry, thought I saw a petal falling off. It seems to all be there though."

Rodney narrowed his eyes, "All but the bits inside that Keller had to cut out."

Sheppard furrowed his brow and gently patted Rodney on the back. "Well, if you hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known. You look the same to me and everyone else, McKay."

Rodney opened his mouth to protest, but Sheppard was too quick for him. "Now get back to work before I send Ronon and Teyla after you for another physio and meditation session."

John watched him go, but couldn't help noticing the hunched shoulders and tension in his muscles. He called Teyla and Ronon and arranged for the three of them to keep a discrete eye on Rodney in case he needed anything or if things got out of hand.

* * *

Sheppard strode into Rodney's lab a few hours later. He didn't need to ask where his quarry was, as he watched a scientist fleeing the lab with bloody murder in her expression. A single raised voice flowed out like a homing beacon and Sheppard directed his feet towards the sweet sound of Rodney's ranting voice.

Another scientist was lost from the lab, and scurried past Sheppard. This one was less composed than the last, but Rodney kept on going. Shouting at his subordinates for their sloppy work, their lack of dedication, he even tried Zelenka, but at least Radek stood up for himself.

"You are still ill, Rodney. Go back to your quarters, go and speak with Kate. Go and talk to Sheppard if it makes you feel better. But do not take out your problems on your staff. We _know_ you were badly hurt and still are, but we are not able to work in these hundred decibel conditions."

Radek huffed and turned back to his computer.

Rodney stood panting and red-faced before aiming at another scientist, Sheppard sauntered over. Many of the scientists still brave and loyal enough to stay there gave him pleading and somewhat relieved looks.

He set his expression and said to Rodney, "Carter wants to see you."

Rodney stopped mid-rant and redirected his braying without seeming to even pause to draw a breath, "Why would her royal highness want to see me?"

"I don't know." Sheppard lowered his voice so the others didn't hear, "She looked a bit pissed though."

* * *

A few minutes later, McKay was guided into Carter's office by Sheppard. Who nodded at both of them and then left, closing the door behind him.

McKay waggled his finger at her and the first words tumbling from his mouth were; "You'd better have a good reason for dragging me away from the labs! The moment I leave, things go wrong. While you're sitting here on your throne upon high, the science department are working flat out to keep the city running, but they can't seem to do it if I'm not there."

Carter sat behind her desk in silence. Patiently waiting until McKay's rant ended. She then said, "Sit down before you fall down please, Dr McKay."

Rodney didn't really have much of a choice in the matter, his injuries aching from not only the movement but having to stand up for so long and the draining stress of the incompetence all around him all the time.

He collapsed down into the chair opposite her desk heavily, but he wasn't going to let her have the upper hand, so a fraction of a second after he hit the chair, he sat tense and folded his arms over his chest. The lack of any reaction from Carter was slightly unnerving and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. His minions usually scurried for cover or agreed with everything he said without question… why was Carter being so… blank?

He tapped his foot and quickly desisted when his calf told him to stop it by throbbing in time with the movement. So instead, he swallowed and asked, "What do you want? I don't have all day."

"Yes, you do. And so do I if necessary."

Rodney sighed angrily, "Is this about me? Am I not doing my job?"

"No."

Rodney narrowed his eyes, "Am I not being a competent departmental head?"

Carter's face remained impassive.

Rodney huffed and unfolded his arms so that he could place his hands in his lap and slowly eased out the sore muscles in his abused forearms.

Carter eyed him for a moment longer until Rodney had to look down to make sure he was wearing clothes. Any vestiges of attraction he may have once felt towards Carter were scorched away by the constant furious fire of anger burning like an ever-flaming furnace in his chest.

She typed on her computer and read out, "Twenty complaints of work related stress and bullying, five people having to go to Dr Keller for sedatives to help them sleep, two unconditional resignations…" she sighed and looked up at him. "And one problem."

Rodney glared right back. She wasn't going to break him. She could keep talking like that forever, nothing would change.

She furrowed her brow and lowered her voice. "Since you came back from the planet, you've been… _different_, Rodney."

"Well, unrelenting torture can have that effect on a person."

"Everyone is worried about you."

Rodney raised an eyebrow at her, "_Every_one?" He scoffed, "Really? I find that hard to believe."

"Oh, but they are." She pursed her lips and tapped a key on her computer, making the screen go blank. She clasped her hands on the desk and leant forward slightly. "Me included."

Rodney felt a savage smile trying to curl his lips, but he ended up snarling at her. "Are you trying to be sympathetic, Carter?" He liked the feel of her name as he spat it out unpleasantly. Two nice hard vowels, so much more spittable than Colonel. "You of all people should realise that I don't respond to that very well."

"Doctors Keller and Heightmeyer have also expressed concerns about your wellbeing. And they would know."

Rodney baulked and said, "So you've been reading my medical file and talking about me behind my back as well!?"

Carter glared right back at him, "I didn't _have_ to. The way you are acting now has only confirmed my suspicions."

Rodney opened his mouth to have a go, but she cut him off, "I know that you're angry after the terrible things that happened to you. But bullying your staff to the point of nervous breakdown, exhaustion and stress so great they can't concentrate to even do their jobs anymore won't be tolerated under my command or anyone else's."

Rodney frowned, but remained silent.

Carter waited a moment longer in case he had anything to say, but his silence was proof enough that he knew the problem already, but just hadn't had anyone brave enough to confront and lay it out for him.

"I'm really sorry, Rodney, but the fact of the matter is, if you can't find a way to play nicely…" She sat back as Rodney's face started to lose the furious red hue and the corners of his eyes loosened, she let him fill in the gaps with that big brain of his.

She leant forwards and said kindly, "You're the best man here for the job. You have to work this out or we'll lose you back to Earth. Please, Rodney, if you need any help with anything at all, it doesn't matter what. _Ask_ someone. I want you to take the rest of the day off."

Rodney nodded once and stood up. His voice was still biting and filled with sarcasm, but it seemed to have lost its edge somewhat. "Well, nice as our little chat has been, I'm sure you'd like to catch up on my personal medical records in private. I'm sure they make interesting reading." His frown returned, but to Carter it seemed like the fury that had been in his eyes when he had entered the office, was somehow cooler.

The moment he was out of sight, Carter rubbed her forehead at the Rodney McKay sized headache forming there.

The man himself stopped halfway to the science labs, pulled off his radio and dropped it on the floor as he diverted his route to the ascension machine lab. There was still a constant low ache in his middle, either from hunger or the wounds, he wasn't even sure anymore which one it was. It made him growl in anger and gave him the desire to smash something up. Preferably something important, noisy and big.

* * *

He went to one of the piers first and walked all the way to the edge. Marvelling at how far down the sheer drop to the ocean was.

No memories had come back to him yet about what Michael had done to inflict such grave wounds. He had flashes in nightmares, but didn't know which ones were real. Whispers he heard and the most frequent images he saw were of a room on a planet with a space gate, but no matter how much Heightmeyer and the rest of his friends on Atlantis pressed him to recall and talk about the repressed trauma, he couldn't.

The warm air blew in over the ocean from the south, bringing rain like tears, warm at first and then chilling him to the bone. The gloomy sky perfectly reflected his mood, but he found no solace there and soon returned to the city feeling the same as he did before.

* * *

Rodney hacked into the mission reports to find out. Not able to take his ignorance any longer. It had happened to him, he had a right to know!

But it was like reading a horror story, and nothing in there made sense to him. His mind was still unable to recall a firsthand account of all the events from the words he read. He had been drugged to vomit and pass out by some natives Teyla used to be friendly with. Michael had then transported him to a planet and proceeded to push hoops through his arms and legs between the bones to secure him to a table. Thin skewers had then been forced through him. Based on the bruising around the sites of each injury, Keller had theorised that he had been conscious while it took place. Michael had given him anti-biotics and fluids, but no painkillers. And that was how they'd found him after a tip off during one of their searches. From what they could tell, he'd been there like that for many hours.

They'd brought him back and patched up his physical injuries, but his mind had remained elsewhere for two weeks.

Two weeks of lost time! What had he been like? Silent, according to Sheppard's report, but Rodney couldn't find any of Heightmeyer's files. She probably kept all her files on a local drive, and Rodney was quite grateful that his enquiring mind had no idea what she thought of him.

He shut down the computer in a daze, unsure what to believe any more. He stumbled into the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind and starring into space blankly. He mentally activated the shower and the room was soon full of warm mist.

Rodney looked in the mirror and wiped away some of the water droplets gathered on the surface of the glass. He'd successfully avoided looking at his full reflection since he'd got back. He had barely even glanced at his body, knowing what the shiny, ugly scars looked like and how he couldn't do anything to clean them away and make his skin smooth again other than fixing the ascension machine. But time was going by and he had made no progress at all. Even _he_ was beginning to think it was unfixable, just like his useless blocked memories.

Zelenka had entirely burned out every circuit and crystal in the room while resetting Rodney the last time. Even the logs were now impossible to reconstruct.

He cleared more fog away with a shaking hand, the exertion of keeping his arm lifted tiring, but necessary.

He refused to look up for a few more seconds, but couldn't help it as his eyes drifted. He soon found himself looking at the reflection and he saw the livid scars on his midsection. The marks were pink, purple, red and sensitive, and covered his back too. Kolya had been an amateur. But at least he'd wanted something that Rodney could give to make it stop. Michael had only wanted his pain, and he had extracted all of it.

"I'll fix it," he vowed to the man in the mirror, troubled by the haunted, dark-rimmed eyes looking back at him and pale complexion under the stubble.

He slammed his fist down on the mirror. It trembled, but remained intact as he said again, with a voice cracking in desperation, "I'll fix it!"

But he knew it was impossible, he was doomed to stay like this forever. Tears of rage flowed down his face, torn from him in his helpless anger and frustration. He'd felt the feeling ebbing and flowing all the time within him since he'd come back, but now it was like hurricane storm surges battering down his flimsy and breaking external barriers.

With no-one around, he had no problem letting it all flow over and out. He slammed his fist down on the mirror as hard as he could, smashing the glass into a cracked circle of fragments. The red within the starburst didn't faze him, but he needed something else to finish the job.

How could it be classed as a nervous breakdown if there was no-one there to see it?

He grabbed the small chair from the shower cubicle, he had not got around to returning to the infirmary yet since he had started walking again. It was light and very solid.

He lifted it up, splattering red spots around the bathroom as he moved. He roared in anger as he swung it towards the mirror as hard as he could.

There was a pleasant crash and the already shattered pieces broke into a million shards and splinters, falling down and scattering all over the room. He suddenly saw them as fragments of his soul that Michael had so thoroughly destroyed with those skewer implements. How long it had taken to render him this way, he would never know. But it _had_ worked and his mind was smashed just like the mirror. Sure it could be glued together, but there would always be cracks and weaknesses just waiting for the right pressure to split open again. He was broken, the ascension machine was broken. And now the mirror was broken.

Nothing could be repaired. Fragments would always remain just that.

He still didn't feel satisfied as he stumbled into the shower, leaving red footprints under his bare feet as he trod on the broken glass.

He stood in the shower and let the hot water thunder down onto his back, cascading over his sides in torrents until he was so pleasantly numb, he could no longer feel it and the rusty water ran clear.

He then towelled himself off, carefully avoiding looking at his body until the dressing gown was back on. He then remained in his unfeeling trance as he sat on the bent, but serviceable chair and used the tweezers from his cabinet to tug out the glass embedded in his feet. He had no qualms about whimpering into the empty room, as one by one he pulled out the shards of red glass, disinfected and then bound his hands and feet. He cleared up the mess, walked back into the room, ignoring the stinging pain from the soles of his feet and collapsed down onto the bed.

He tossed and turned until uneasy sleep claimed him, filled with hybrid monsters, blood and pain. Half human iratus bug people attacked him and he killed them all without any feeling, their frightening half-human faces looking at him accusingly as he watched them all die by his hand. They sometimes tore at his flesh with their claws and teeth, but he felt no pain. He felt nothing at all even as they writhed and screamed and one by one fell silent.

His heart was like a solid block of ice in his chest, freezing his lungs and burning across his diaphragm. It was nothing to him, what he did and what happened to him afterwards on the planet. And that scared him more than he had ever known.

His life before Atlantis had made him feel unwanted wherever he went. Sure people would ask him to fix this, fix that, check this over, run this team and make them work faster and better. But never had anyone cared about him as a human being. He was just a brain to be sent where it was needed, with never a question of; '_How are you today, Rodney? Good weekend? What's up? Want to join us when we go out to the local bar tonight?'_

And after too many years of that, only on Atlantis had people begun to ask him these things, and at first it had made him defensive and suspicious. He'd been taught his whole life that he was unworthy of friends and if he made a mistake at work, he was punished. He only had to remember Siberia for that.

But now he was being threatened with getting sent back to Earth again where he would be alone. The worst punishment imaginable.

Rodney woke up in the dark. The pain from the glass cuts was a savage reminder and a physical distraction from the turmoil within that kept him awake until dawn broke.

Sunlight streamed through the window, but the light had no warmth and Rodney stared and stared at the ceiling waiting for something, _anything_ to happen to pull him out of the emptiness he felt inside.

After a few more hours with sporadic hunger pangs, he started to feel tired, so he shut his eyes and drifted off to sleep once more. Knowing that he had now shouted at everyone who might check up on him, and made them hate him enough so that they wouldn't bother to notice if he didn't show his face for a few days.

And by then it would be too late.

* * *

"Ronon to Sheppard."

_"Go ahead."_

"It's McKay."

_"What's he been doing?"_

"Went to that ascension machine lab again. Back to the main labs, shouted a bit, got halfway back to his quarters, went back to the main lab and shouted some more."

_"Okay, nothing unusual so far, so what's the problem?"_

"He's in his quarters. Has been for fourteen hours."

_"Have you checked on him? You know, knocked on the door to make sure he's alright?"_

"Zelenka's watching his life sign. He walked around a bit, spent some time in the bathroom, but now he's just lying still. Has been for a long time. But his life sign's strong and stable."

_"You do realise that McKay's a genius, right? It probably wouldn't take much effort for him to trick the reading, even if he's been a bit out of himself lately." _Sheppard sighed,_ "Well, alright, I'll be right there."_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N – Huge thanks to **Max** (and everyone else) for reviewing! I'm so glad you like it, your comments gave me a warm fuzzy feeling inside! Alas, the notifications are down at the moment, but hopefully they'll be back soon._

_Oh my! I had to rewrite, rearrange and then rewrite this chapter..._

**Chapter 5**

John tapped his radio as he ran along the corridor. "Sheppard to Keller. Meet us at Rodney's quarters... No… Well I don't know yet. Leave the gurney, come by yourself." He thought for a second and then added, "Bring your gear, just in case."

He jogged into the transporter, his heart feeling like a lead weight of dread in his chest. Luckily for him the transporter was fast and he materialised a moment later in the corridor leading to Rodney's quarters.

He started to run again and skidded to a halt when he spotted Ronon.

John shared a look of concern with him and the Satedan said, "I knocked, but he's not answering."

John nodded and composed himself before yanking the door control panel off the wall and bridging the crystals. The door hissed open, John finding it odd that it was so easy. Rodney was a genius, and he would've thought the man would at least have tweaked his home security measures so that half the base couldn't break in.

Unless he'd made it easy on purpose… He _wanted_ to be found!

The room wasn't lit and there was only dim light coming through the window making it hard to see through the gloom. John activated the lights and called out, "You in here, Rodney?"

"I'm asleep. Go away."

"Yeah right you are, McKay."

John went further inside and instantly spotted the lump of sheets on the bed. He wandered over cautiously and asked again, "Don't think you can hide out in here without us noticing. I've been wondering where my favourite scientist was all day. Missed you at breakfast and it's nearly lunchtime now!"

Rodney shifted and then relaxed with an irritated grunt.

John helped to untangle him from the sheets. Trying and failing to ignore how pale, cool and sweaty Rodney was as the light tremors running through his body were transferred to John's hands. John pressed his lips tightly together before saying, "Hey, you'd better get decent pretty sharpish. Keller's coming."

Rodney pushed the sheets back, and John glanced around the room. His eyes settled on a set of scrubs Rodney had taken from the infirmary. They weren't too dirty so he quickly helped Rodney to scramble into them. Rodney was having some trouble because his muscles didn't seem to be working properly and his hands and feet were bandaged, the material spotted dark brown with dried blood.

"What the hell happened here?" John asked in alarm.

Rodney shut his eyes and sunk back down onto the bed as he said weakly, "I really don't like mirrors."

Ronon had stayed outside and John heard the low rumble of his voice just before Keller came in. She did a very quick examination of Rodney and promptly radioed for a gurney.

"When was the last time you ate, Rodney?" she asked as she flashed a penlight into his eyes.

Rodney flinched away from the light, "There's nothing wrong with my eyes!"

"_When?"_

He huffed and grumbled, "I don't know. Yesterday sometime. I wasn't feeling hungry."

Keller nodded, started up an IV line and passed the bag of fluids to Sheppard.

Ronon had followed them in and slowly approached. John nodded in encouragement and Ronon was emboldened to step forward in case Keller needed him for anything.

She carefully unwrapped Rodney's hands and feet and held each one up in turn to the light. She said, "These cuts are deep and still bleeding a little. I can see some foreign objects in the wounds. They'll have to be removed, but you need painkillers and stitches and antibiotics. The drip will make you feel stronger in a minute. Stay awake for me until then."

Rodney blinked up at her sleepily and grimaced. "Why are you bothering?"

Ronon sensed he was needed and stepped forward. He grabbed Rodney's upper arm in support, but didn't say anything.

Jennifer spoke instead, "You're hurt, Rodney. Why wouldn't I?" She lightly rewrapped his appendages with some clean gauze and furrowed her brow.

Rodney grumbled quietly, his anger stripped away in exhaustion, "I know, it's just your job, but I don't deserve your help or your attention. If I can't do _my_ job anymore, I'm useless to everyone here. So why bother?"

John frowned at Rodney in confusion. "Who or what made you think you were useless? You obviously _do_ need our help, so," he smiled, "here we are."

Jennifer finished the bandaging, gripped his shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze. She put her other hand in his hair as she leant forwards and spoke quietly into his ear, "You'll be good as new in no time, you just have to not give up and stop thinking things like that. Healing from traumatic, life threatening injuries isn't a quick fix like pressing a few buttons and suddenly the city's safe from the Wraith. Give yourself some credit, you've done incredibly well to have come as far as you have."

Rodney closed his eyes, but he had heard and absorbed every word.

The gurney soon arrived and Jennifer and her team whisked Rodney to the infirmary. Once he was settled in and the remaining glass had been removed and painkillers applied, he dozed off.

John beckoned Jennifer over from the other side of the room, so she checked the machines next to Rodney, glanced at the man himself briefly and then went over to him.

John asked, "So what's the verdict, Doc?"

"Well, he was on the verge of falling into a hypoglycaemic coma when we got there, and those cuts he had must've been terribly sore."

John grimaced and rubbed his own hands together unconsciously. He asked, "After what happened before, do you still check up on him?

"Sure, nearly every day either myself or a member of my team looks in on him. What with the extent of his injuries, and the ongoing physio and counselling, I have to. I was going to dial back his appointments to every few days, but given what just happened, I don't think that's wise yet. I often have to go to _him_ and it's getting harder to drag him down to the infirmary to review his treatment. He's hurting, I know it, but he hides it within the anger."

John sighed and looked over at the sleeping scientist. "I know."

Jennifer rubbed her forehead tiredly. "What with Major Lorne's team coming back in need of medical assistance this morning, I couldn't spare anyone for non-urgent appointments, so I rescheduled Rodney's check up to this afternoon. I'm sorry, I should've seen the warning signs."

"We all should, but McKay's a difficult man to decipher, let along to get along with. Especially after what he's been through."

* * *

Rodney woke up and slipped out of the infirmary a few hours later. It was now the afternoon and John was on duty to make sure he was alright, so he discretely followed Rodney. He radioed Keller and checked it was okay for Rodney to leave, she said yes, but would've preferred for him to stay longer for monitoring.

John soon lost Rodney when he went into a transporter and shielded the screen from view so that his destination was unknown. John went to the labs first and found Zelenka hunched over a computer. There was a device on the table and John couldn't resist the urge to grab it and fiddle while he glanced around the room looking for his missing friend. It started to spin and whistle, so he quickly put it back down and shoved his hands in his pockets nonchalantly.

He asked, "Where's McKay?"

Zelenka blinked slowly, but didn't look at him, "Not here, apparently. We have done more work without him shouting at us today. Find him, but make sure he's feeling better before he shows his face in here again. We know he has not been feeling very well lately, but we cannot take any more of his misplaced abuse."

"Oh don't worry, I will," John assured him

John went to Rodney's quarters next, but the room was empty. He suddenly remembered the ascension machine, and when he arrived, he finally found the wayward scientist slumped over the console, fast asleep.

John went over to Rodney and rubbed his upper back gently to rouse him.

Rodney twitched and then whimpered and moaned from whatever his mind was showing him. John quickly called out, "What are you doing down here, McKay?"

"You're in my quarters. I'm sleeping. Go away."

"Last time I checked, this was a lab that anyone could access. I would've expected signs or warnings, possibly amusing traps if I'd known I was entering the Domain of McKay."

"I'll fix them up later." Rodney sat back in the chair, and John kept his hand in contact to steady him. Rodney blinked and said, "I'm doing the usual, you know: fixing things, working… engaging in deep thought processes…"

"Looked like you were asleep to me."

"_Very_ deep thought. At least before you came butting in."

"Seems more like running yourself down into the ground. When was the last time you ate anything solid?"

"Keller gave me the liquid stuff. Proper food though…? I don't know."

John moved his hand away from Rodney's back and waved at the machine. "How long have you been trying to get this thing working again?"

Rodney looked at him nervously, and his expressive face showed the obvious lie, "A few hours."

John smirked at him, "You're the worst poker player who ever lived. I know you've been down here for hours every day ever since you got back. Why?"

"You've been following me?"

"Only to make sure you don't hole up in your quarters without eating anything, or get hurt without seeking medical attention."

He placed his hand back on Rodney's shoulder, but the man shook it off with an annoyed huff. "It can fix me and then things will go back to how they were. Without this… this…" He lifted his shirt up and showed John the torn flesh, _"...ugliness."_

John suppressed a wince, but Rodney had seen it already. He sighed and the material fell down to cover him. He suddenly grew angry. "If you're not going to help me, then go away. I can deal with this on my own. Who do you think looked after me and hung out with me in Area 51 and Siberia? Me. I'm all I have and I can rely on myself. I don't need you or your help, Jennifer's drugs or Heightmeyer's talking sessions."

Rodney turned away and John could see tremors of poorly suppressed rage wracking his body.

John said quietly, "Come back to the city with me. I want to show you something."

Rodney tapped a few buttons on the console, sighed and then rolled his eyes. "Alright. But just for a few minutes, I have lots to do here."

They walked down the corridors and went to the mess hall first, where John made Rodney eat something. Then they went to the control room. Everywhere they went, people greeted both Rodney and John pleasantly. Many enquired as to how Rodney was feeling, or expressed their concern about what had happened to him, much to his annoyance. But they smiled anyway, even (and perhaps most especially) when he snapped at them.

John paused with him in the gate room, far enough away that no-one would hear, and said, "Look around, Rodney. Everyone here likes you, respects you, looks out for you. You just don't see it recently because of all the shouting. There's been a bubble around you these last few weeks and few have dared to get near to you for fear of losing limbs. Lighten up a bit and you'll have them all eating out of your hand again in no time."

He then took Rodney to the science lab. Radek was still there and his face fell when he spotted Rodney. Several other scientists quickly took cover like they thought a bomb was about to go off. But when Rodney didn't say anything, and when they saw John hovering nearby, they were emboldened. Some tentatively came over and asked Rodney for advice. Soon he was surrounded by scientists asking him to check this equation, or this project, or ask for his ideas about what he thought this device was.

Rodney did it all. He dispensed his advice in sarcasm if there were any errors. But he didn't seem as angry as usual.

John was smiling at him happily when they left the lab, but Rodney was still downcast and said, "But the horrible scars. I _have_ to fix the lab. Don't you see? I hate people starring at them and at me. Fix it, fix myself and then reverse the ascension process. What could go wrong with that?"

* * *

From that moment on, Teyla and Ronon seemed awfully friendly as well. Rodney hardly had any time to himself, and he much preferred it to how he had been just before the mirror smashing incident.

Even the nightmares had started to become more infrequent ever since he'd started to walk again.

His team refused to let him go more than a few hours without one of them asking how he was, or forcing him to watch movies with them, or even just sitting with him in silence if that was what he wanted.

Teyla helped him to meditate, and Rodney soon snuffed out and hid the stinkiest candles she tended to use, much to her consternation.

Ronon grinned manically and scared Rodney into doing all the physio exercises, just to avoid that mad glint in his eyes, which could've been mirth… but just as easily could've been murder.

John kept appearing unannounced with gifts of food, or jokes, or just to be annoying.

Jennifer's check ups were now like clockwork and although he was still in some pain, with her hands on him and the pleasant lilt of her voice and the scent of her skin and hair so close to him, he started to look forward to seeing her, even though she gave him pain.

She even told him he was getting better and how proud she was that he hadn't given up, how she had always known it was in him.

Proud!

If he was being prickly and aggressive, she responded in kind, but never said anything that stepped over the line or made him angrier.

When Jennifer finally said she was satisfied that his gut had sufficiently healed to eat anything now, he was so pleased he actually _hugged_ her. She squeaked in fright and he nervously cleared his throat before letting go and scurrying away to the mess hall. Because eating a nice big steak was _so_ much better than broth and bland nothingness he'd been force fed and it was because of her that he could do that.

He even started to put the weight back on he had lost through illness.

Heightmeyer's sessions where also becoming more infrequent, and however much of a quack Rodney had once thought she was, whatever she was doing to him seemed to be working. Even with her seemingly crazy techniques: making him tell her all about his thoughts and fears, she showed him relaxation and breathing techniques that Teyla sometimes forced on him too.

With her careful prodding to get his mind back in order, he was starting to feel like the shattered remnants, no matter how broken they were, _could_ be glued back together. Like his mind was a ten thousand piece jigsaw puzzle (even one of those near-impossible pictures comprised entirely of beans or paperclips) rather than a piece of broken glass with no original picture and no hope. She carefully mended his thinking and pressed him so much to complete her exercises that he couldn't help but do them. She at least was being nice to him, most of the time, and didn't even get upset when he had a bad day and ended up shouting and swearing and screaming at her.

But there was still a niggling doubt in the back of Rodney's mind, about himself and his appearance. His thoughts were slowly getting back in order, all the corners and edges of the puzzle back in place while the middle was being filled in and on the way to completion. His body obeyed him most of the time, his belly, arms and legs only aching in the mornings or when he left the painkillers too long between doses.

But the wounds had healed to a certain extent and then stopped, leaving shiny scars, puckers and marks all over his front, back, forearms and lower legs. He still had no mirror, hated to look at himself, and despised short sleeved shirts, preferring to perspire in the sweltering heat rather than allow anyone to see them.

He knew it would be impossible for him to attract any female attention now. Sure, he was turning back into the angry snarkmonster just as he had been before he was tortured, but he now lacked confidence in his appearance underneath his clothes. Any woman getting that far with him would hate what they saw and run off in disgust, he knew that the marks on his body where a total turn off, not only for him, but for anyone else seeing them too.

It was only a small problem at first, but it grew and grew the more he became fixated on it, his one lingering problem, until he lost his temper in the labs one day. Triggered just by someone looking at him and then asking offhand if he could roll up his sleeves and check out a new lab they'd found.

In his furious rage, he had smashed an Ancient device, and stormed out in such a hurry he upended his chair with a crash. The people left in the lab looked on in bewilderment.

Now Rodney fumed from stood in the corridor, his chest heaved while the injuries in his abdomen throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He clutched his belly and grimaced at the nausea rolling through him from the pain. He could even feel the pitting of the scars through the material of his shirt and he swallowed compulsively to stop the horrified sickness.

He closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose and out of his mouth. "I am _not_ an ugly freak," he chanted under his breath. "What happened to me is _not_ my fault." He furrowed his brow, "Why dwell on things that can't be changed?"

He frowned and opened his eyes. He hadn't been back to the ascension machine lab since the fateful day of the mirror smashing and breakdown. So convinced he was that it could never be repaired having spent many hours down there with no progress whatsoever. But maybe now that he was feeling a little bit better, he could give it another go. Perhaps all that was needed was fresh perspective after all this time. And he _was_ feeling so much better.

But when he got down there, the area was sealed off. It took him a few minutes to break through, because a genius such as himself would not be held back by tape or locked doors, or any one of the scary cat-sized rats in that area.

He went into the lab, there was nothing there. He walked around the edges of the room, retraced his steps, even called up a map of the city on his PDA. But it was definitely the correct room. Someone had been in there and destroyed it! Why would they do such a thing?!

He called Radek, who helpfully told him that the machine was safe, but had been transported back to Earth for further study. It was useless on Atlantis anyway with most of the components missing and a majority of the circuits burnt out and irreparable.

"Who authorised the move?!"

There was a pause and Radek answered, _"You did."_

"What?" Rodney would never have done such a thing, unless he was insane… hmm…

There was an even longer pause and Rodney heard rapid typing on the other end of the line. _"Yes. It was you. A week ago. I passed you a stack of forms to sign and you signed them all. I did wonder whether you had read any of them at the time. Colonel Carter also approved the removal of the machine. Why are you so bothered by this, Rodney?"_

He leant up against the nearest wall in the empty lab and allowed himself to slide down until he was sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up. He gritted his teeth and mumbled, "That's none of you business, Radek."

"_Okay. I will see you later, yes?"_

Rodney grunted and ran a hand under his shirt sleeve and fingered the sensitive scars on his arm distractedly. He would never be completely whole now. He was doomed.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N - Sorry for the delay! I went to a convention last week, met David Hewlett and everything :) I'm in the process of typing up a report with photos, but felt this needed to be finished first!_

**Chapter 6**

Jennifer stood behind a privacy curtain in the infirmary with Rodney laid out in just his boxer shorts in front of her. She gently pressed her hands down on Rodney's abdomen, testing each area in turn by palpation. She studied him intensely for his reaction as she said, "Someone told me you were a being a little bit grumpy today."

He huffed and glared at her. "I just want to be like I was. Free from this and from you."

She smiled kindly and tilted her head, "Well, squeak if anything hurts and I'll see what I can do."

"It _all_ hurts," Rodney hissed through gritted teeth. "And you jabbing and poking your hard fingers into me really isn't helping!"

Jennifer lifted her hands away and furrowed her brow at him. "Where does it hurt the most?"

"I don't know. Everywhere?"

Jennifer sighed quietly in exasperation and carried on gently pressing her fingers along his skin. When she reached the large knotted surgical scar on his flank, Rodney drew in a sharp breath and tensed up. Jennifer stopped straight away and noted down something on her clipboard. She checked his arms and legs next, concentrating her examination on his forearms and lower legs.

He still couldn't quite make a fist with his right hand and winced. The grip of both of his hands was weak and he soon dropped the pen Jennifer handed him. He growled in anger. "I hate this. Why's it always so bad when you're watching?"

"Residual tenderness in all injured areas," Jennifer said out loud as she carried on scribbling notes.

She peered over the top of her board at him and he shrunk down into the bed. He blushed red and looked away after a few seconds, moving his shaking hands up and covering his belly with them. But it wasn't enough and he started to feel angry at Jennifer's scrutiny. Why the hell was she looking at him like that?

He suddenly went off the rails and he shrieked, "I said I hate it! Stop looking at me!"

"I'm just trying to help! You know the drill, finding out where you're hurting, how much, and then I can figure out what I can give you to make it better."

"What, by starring at these hideous marks all over me!?"

"They're not hideous and neither are you."

"Yes, yes they are, and you shouldn't have to look." He leapt off the bed and stumbled. He grunted angrily as Jennifer dropped her board and caught him when he overbalanced. When he regained control of his limbs and they took his weight at last, he shoved Jennifer away. But not too forcefully, just enough so that she got the message and let go.

He scrubbed his hand over his face and through his hair in fury, keeping his other forearm resting on his stomach, not really knowing what to do with himself. "Just, just, go away and stop looking at me!"

Jennifer nodded, "Alright, but call for help if you need it. Don't hurt yourself."

He went over to his clothes on the chair nearby and pulled them back on, grumbling all the time about how his hands shook so much in fury that they wouldn't grip the material and he kept on fumbling and getting tangled. He could feel his heart pounding so hard that it felt like his whole body was vibrating with every beat. When he caught sight of his scarred legs he switched into a diatribe of under the breath mutterings about how ugly his puckered and blotched and gorily tattooed flesh now was.

He walked unsteadily from the infirmary, and after he was gone, Jennifer called Heightmeyer and arranged a private meeting for later that day.

* * *

Rodney once again found himself in another session of therapy under Heightmeyer's care. He sat opposite her with his arms folded over his chest as he gazed back at her defiantly and feeling highly irritated by the usual incessant chatter.

She asked, "Why do you hide your scars? Are you ashamed?"

Rodney gritted his teeth and winced. "I hate that word. Well, both of those words."

"What would you prefer?"

"Not to talk about it. Not now or ever."

"Show me your arm."

Rodney cradled both of his long-sleeved shirt covered and terribly scarred arms against his chest defensively and said, "Why do you want to see that?"

"Just humour me and you'll find out."

Rodney sighed and furrowed his brow. He stretched out his right arm and looked down to his left and stared at the floor as he slowly pushed his sleeve up to the elbow.

"Now look," Heightmeyer said.

Rodney screwed his eyes shut and said, "I can't. I don't want to." He quickly pulled his sleeve back down and sighed in relief, "I don't want you seeing it either."

When he finally gathered enough courage to open his eyes and look up at her again, Heightmeyer was looking at him intensely, her expression unreadable.

"Why don't you want me to see you?"

"It's horrible. People stare at it and you shouldn't have to see it either." He grimaced. "So disgusting…"

"Is that what you think when you look in the mirror or catch sight of yourself every day?"

Rodney furrowed his brow and blinked slowly. "It is now." He laughed bitterly, "So I had all the mirrors in my quarters removed."

Heightmeyer pursed her lips and Rodney's face fell. She clasped her hands together and asked carefully, "Do you believe that you are in some way responsible for how you look?"

"Of course not!"

"Then why is it a problem?"

"People stare at the marks," Rodney snarled. "I don't like it."

"And no-one's ever looked at you before?"

"Well obviously they have. But I don't want them staring at me like I'm some kind of freakshow centrepiece."

"But what about the mirrors in your quarters? If _you_ can't even look at yourself, how will that alter what you believe are other people's perceptions of you?"

Rodney frowned and twitched in his seat uncomfortably. "I don't know! You're trying to outsmart me with psychobabble, but it won't work!"

"Then look at your arms and legs, abdomen and back, and tell me again; what do you see."

"I see ugliness."

Heightmeyer sighed and leant forwards in her seat. Rodney looked back at her sadly and said, "I take it that was the wrong answer?"

"There are no right or wrong answers here, Rodney. And the legacy of what you went through is tangible and understandable."

Rodney sighed and said sarcastically, "Great, so I'm covered in red ridges and surgical scars, but there's nothing I can do so I should just get over it and carry on with my life?"

"If that's what you believe."

Rodney huffed in frustration and rubbed his face, wincing as he moved.

"You are an attractive man, Rodney. Never let others or your own thoughts tell you otherwise."

"Really, you think so?!" His face suddenly fell and he glared at her angrily, "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Did it work?"

"Yes, for about half a second."

"Good. Keep repeating it to yourself and it will work more often and then become permanent."

"Hmm," he looked away and down, lost in thought. After a few seconds he looked back up again, "It's not working. I still feel hideously disfigured."

"Did Dr Keller discuss skin grafting with you?"

"Yes, but I said no. I've had enough of surgical procedures to last me the rest of my life. And anyway, it'll just be transferring the problem elsewhere. To a place I definitely don't want to be marked."

She gave him a small smile.

His hands flew in time with his words as he said hotly, "But I want them gone gone gone! I don't want to get used to myself. I don't want to be comfortable covered in this… this horror. I know. I should go and put myself through the ascension machine again and heal them all up like I did with Ronon! It's gone back to Earth but I can always recall it!"

Heightmeyer waited patiently for his outburst to end and then asked quietly, "Do you want to kill yourself?"

Rodney looked back at her aghast, "What!? No. What made you think that?"

"The ascension machine nearly killed you last time. I thought it was broken?"

"Yes, but I know I can fix it!"

"So, you magically remove all your scars, then what? All fixed? The nightmares and flashbacks gone too? No more sleepless nights, nausea, outbursts, all the other things I know you're still going through every now and then but not talking about?"

"Well, I wouldn't call them outbursts."

"You can then carry on as though nothing happened?"

"Sure."

"But something _did_ happen, Rodney. You're not superhuman or invincible. Even if there were no physical signs left on your body, the wounds go deeper than what can be seen with the naked eye."

Rodney ran his hand over his cloth-covered left forearm absently and said nothing more.

* * *

Rodney called the maintenance team and asked them to refit his quarters with mirrors, but to cover them. That way, if he really couldn't face it when he got back, he didn't have to go through with it.

He knew Heightmeyer was tricking him and trying to bait him into doing something he really didn't want to. It was beyond him how she didn't think he was ugly.

"_Ronon to McKay."_

Rodney glared upwards from where he had been starring at the empty spot in his bathroom wall where the mirror had once been while he waited for the maintenance team. He lifted his hand up and activated his radio. "What?"

"_You're late. Gym. Now."_

Rodney grimaced. His sessions with Ronon and Teyla caused nothing but pain. Especially if he left too long between them and 'forgot' to do the exercises. He started to feel ill, his stomach churning and his throat closing up in anticipation of how bad it was going to be.

"_Would you like us to come to you, Rodney? We do not mind."_

"No no. I'll be right up. It may take a while, so I suppose you can play for a while?"

Ronon grumbled, _"We'll be waiting."_

How he got to the transporter and all the way to the gym was anyone's guess. But now he sat slouched on the padded floor of the gym opposite his team mates. Bending forward and curving his back the wrong way helped the pain in his lower belly, but didn't help Teyla's mood.

She came over and placed her hand on his lower back and gently put her other hand on his chest and pressed. Rodney had no other choice than to straighten up. He hated the contact, and his back throbbed where the torture spikes had been pushed all the way through him.

Teyla pursed her lips, "Correct posture is essential to mastering what we have been trying to teach you."

They slowly took him through the exercises he had been shown by the physiotherapist. It hurt and he was breathless by the end, but both of his hands gripped properly. Sometime the sessions were worth it, even with the pain they caused.

"I swear, this is making it worse," Rodney gasped where he was now sitting on the floor again, shaking in exertion. He was sweating, perspiration seeping through his long sleeved shirt and trousers.

Teyla asked, "Perhaps you should wear more suitable attire?"

Rodney instantly snapped, "No."

Teyla looked hurt for a fraction of a second and then her expression altered into a stern warning. "Why not?"

"You sound just like Heightmeyer. Why is everyone so fascinated with trying to make me to wear less clothes anyway? Can't I wear what I want?"

Ronon gave him a knowing nod and said, "The scars."

"Are none of your business." Rodney folded his hands in his lap and hunched over.

Teyla leant forwards and peered into his face. "You are a very handsome man, Rodney. Nothing has happened to alter that."

He gritted his teeth and frowned deeply in fury as he glared back at her. The fires and flames of his annoyance were fanned and he felt heat spread out over his face. He took his right sleeve in his left hand and worked it above his forearm so that the red marks on either side were visible. He grimaced and then grunted when his hand slipped a little in sweat.

The scars were still as livid as he remembered. Two, three inch long lines, eclipsing the small white mark that Kolya and his goons had created. They had been amateurs, but Michael was a complete basket case.

Rodney felt bile rising in his throat and swallowed hard. It was horrible, like he was looking at some other poor idiot who'd gotten himself captured, bound and tortured. No way was that on him! It was like something from a horror movie and he was once again jarred out of reality, like he was only watching from a faraway place and no longer connected with anything around him.

He put his left hand against it and tested the edges. As it wasn't real and not a part of him, maybe he could pull it off?

He curled his nails into the flesh with minimal success, because there was no grip.

Teyla cried, "Rodney, please stop! You're hurting yourself!"

A firm hand grasped his left wrist and pulled his arm away easily. His damaged muscles not strong enough yet to resist. Ronon said, "Teyla told you to stop."

Rodney looked into Ronon's unreadable expression and frowned. Of all the people trying to help him, Ronon was the one who had also once borne terrible scars on his back.

Rodney sighed and relaxed. He didn't stand a chance against either of them. And they were right, he was being stupid. He turned to Ronon and tentatively asked, "What was it like, having them?"

Ronon released Rodney's wrist and answered, "Never thought about it. I couldn't see them anyway."

But Rodney's were very visible. The ones on his arms to everyone all the time, the ones on his legs if he ever decided to wear shorts again. The red striations on his belly and back only to him and to anyone who would ever want to get intimate with him. He thought for a while and then asked, "After I healed them. How did you feel?"

"The same."

"Really?"

"Sure. It's just skin. Doesn't change who or what I am."

"Hmm…"

"Why do you think I've got all these tattoos?"

"You're under there somewhere!" Rodney said nervously.

Ronon grunted and Rodney became silent. He glanced down at his arm briefly and then covered it again. "Well, I'm out. I've got a stack of work to do which isn't going to finish itself."

Teyla nodded, "Very well. But remember to go through the exercises once more before resting tonight."

Rodney stood up on his jelly legs and waved her off, "Yes, yes. I know."

He limped out of the room and felt sickness creeping up on him again. He diverted back to his quarters, intending to purge himself of either the feeling, or his lunch.

* * *

When Rodney returned to his room, he discovered that the mirrors were back and they were uncovered. He grumbled, "Lazy idiots. Can't get anything right!"

His hand twitched over a robust Ancient artefact he was using as a paper weight on his desk. The temptation to lob it at the mirror in his bathroom was so great that he struggled to stop himself.

"This is stupid." His stomach roiled again and he averted his eyes as he dashed into the bathroom and knelt down before the toilet. But the feeling passed before he was actually sick and he sighed shakily.

He rubbed his aching belly and sat back on his haunches, allowing the waves of nausea to wash over him until he had them firmly in check once more.

He slowly straightened up and was met by a pair of dull blue eyes peering back at him. The rest of his face was sickly-looking, his green-tinged pale cheeks darkened by stubble, and his hair, despite its shortness, was unkempt and messy.

But it was like he was looking at another person. It had been so long since he had seen himself. He moved his hand up and frowned, the reflection looked back at him in puzzlement when it moved at the same time.

He placed his hand on his chest. The reflection did the same.

He sighed and looked away, curling his hands under the hem of his shirt. He closed his eyes tightly as he peeled off the garment and tossed it unseen to the floor.

He smoothed his hands down his chest and stopped before they hit the uneven part of his torso.

He very slowly opened his eyes and glanced at himself in the mirror. Bile rose quickly and he only just made it to the pan in time. Even with his eyes closed he could vividly see what he had just seen imprinted on his eyelids from the brief glance of that man peering back at him curiously. He vomited and his abdomen cramped, leaving him breathless. He looked down at the offending area of his anatomy and quickly sat up and retched nothing.

"Oh, ow. Drugs… drugs…"

Rodney crawled into the main room of his quarters and popped some of the pills. He sat down on the floor, leant against the desk and tilted his head back. He breathed heavily as he waited for them to kick in, the pain and nausea slowly fading.

He steeled himself and looked down again. He muttered, "I only see me. I only see me."

He then huffed and tipped his head back again with an audible clunk as it hit the desk, but without enough force to hurt. "This is even stupider than the questions Heightmeyer asks."

He staggered back into the bathroom and removed the rest of his clothes. The mirror only showed him down to the navel, but it was enough.

"Okay," he laughed in bitter emptiness. "Me." He huffed when the nausea started to make a return. He hated medical things; the very thought of splinters and papercuts and his own blood (or anyone else's for that matter) made him physically sick. Keller would know he'd been sick. She always did. He'd probably pulled something inside his gut that was still being held together by spit and sticky tape.

He ran his hand down his chest again, paused at the base of his ribs and then ran in lightly over the marks. He flinched at the feel of himself, but did it again, while he glared at the intense frown on the face looking back at him. "Me," he growled.

He flopped down onto the floor, exhausted and spent, and gazed at his lower legs. The marks were similar to those on his arms, but a lot bigger. The hair partially hid them even when he was naked, but they were there alright. Red and blotched as ever, purple and shiny and grotesque.

"Teyla said I was handsome," he said as he poked the side of his marred left leg and grimaced. "Even Teyla. Huh."

He raised his eyebrows as he prodded the other leg. "Keller said I _wasn't_ hideous." He frowned and paused. Maybe not such a compliment, but hey…

He stood up and spoke directly to the man regarding him from the mirror. "Hell, even Heightmeyer called me an attractive man. But she's paid to say whatever crap she can think of as long as she gets the cogs turning again." He found his lips curling up into an involuntary smile, even as he glanced down at the person in the mirror, no longer seeing the reflection, but himself. He was looking at _himself_ for the first time in weeks without feeling ill!

"Teyla said I was handsome!" he said, with tears welling in his eyes. But he was unsure where they were coming from. He didn't feel particularly bad, or happy about it.

He backed himself up into the door of the shower and leant against it, slid down to the floor, curled his arms around his knees and pulled them in as close as he could without compressing his painful abdomen. He shut his eyes and buried his face into his arms, for once not caring about the feel of the blemished skin brushing against his face, or the light scratch of stubble. "Handsome…" he whispered as he continued to cry.

"Maybe there's hope for me yet."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

In time, Rodney's physical injuries got better until he hardly had to take any drugs to relieve the pain, and his complex, yet brilliant mind adjusted to the trauma he had been through. Until one day, the question of him going offworld arose.

John approached him in the evening, where Rodney sat alone in the main lab, merrily clacking away on a laptop. He was facing towards the door and avidly staring at the screen. He tried to ignore Sheppard, but his shoulders tensed and he stopped typing, even while still staring at the screen.

John was pleased to see that Rodney was back to wearing a short sleeved shirt, he no longer seemed overly bothered that his scars were on show and neither did he move to cover himself. He started typing again with a small sigh, and at length, he twitched in irritation and looked up at John as he said, "Somehow I don't think I'm _that_ interesting. I'm really busy, what can I do for you?"

John smiled and moved closer. He sidled up to the desk and feigned interest in the gobbledegook on the screen of Rodney's computer. "Hmm. That's interesting."

Rodney waved at the screen and his face lit up in excitement. "You can read it?"

John's smirk broadened and Rodney glanced at him. The scientist's face fell and he looked more annoyed than ever. "No, you can't read it."

"I like the creative layout of the lettering."

Rodney huffed and folded his arms around himself without flinching. "Somehow I don't think you came here to discuss the finer points of comparative Ancient syntax. What do you want?"

"There's a mission in a couple of days. I want you back on my team."

Rodney baulked and his eyes darted around in panic. He really didn't want to leave the relative safety of Atlantis after what happened last time he went beyond the six piers surrounding him. After a few minutes of deep breathing and careful thought manipulations, he composed himself with a sigh and said, "I'm not ready. You know that!"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't think you were."

Rodney protested loudly, "Well, I'm not!"

"Nor would I ask if you hadn't already been medically signed off as fit for offworld missions by both… _quacks_, as you so lovingly call them. Does that mean you think they're ducks?"

Rodney kept shaking his head and staring blankly at the swirling code on the screen in front of him.

John allowed him to keep his silence and rested a hand on Rodney's upper back briefly. "Think about it, okay? The briefing's tomorrow and 11am."

* * *

At 9am the next day, Rodney stole a Puddle Jumper. The gate room staff were at a loss to stop him, or even find out where he was going, as the Jumper took over their controls and flew through the activate wormhole. No-one could raise him on the radio either.

They only knew it was him from one of the few security feeds on Atlantis, which was placed at the entrance to the Jumper Bay.

John has an idea where he went though, and was in the control room a couple of minutes later, with Colonel Carter and Zelenka.

John went over to Radek, where he sat tapping on the computer next to Chuck. "Access the log for McKay's last mission."

Radek nodded grimly as he typed rapidly on the computer. His hands suddenly froze and he swore in Czech.

John frowned. "That's exactly what I thought."

Radek elaborated more eloquently, "Rodney has accessed this log multiple times. It is the mission report of his rescue from the planet where Michael… where he…"

John frowned, "It's okay."

Radek nodded and gulped before looking at the computer again. "He looked at it once today, just before he left. Indications are that it was downloaded to a portable device."

John had no idea why Rodney would even consider going back to the planet where Michael had held him captive under the agonising pain of torture. He just hoped that Rodney wasn't going to do something _really_ stupid, especially when he seemed almost back to his normal self.

John asked, "The gate address…?"

"Is within the log."

Carter nodded at John, "Take whoever you need. Get him back."

John tapped his radio, "Lorne, Teyla, Ronon. Gear up and meet me in the Jumper bay immediately."

* * *

McKay's Puddle Jumper was easy enough to find, back on that desolate wasteland of endless brown and swirling grey clouds. He hadn't even bothered to cloak it where he had landed it next to the entrance.

The mission report had some scans of the planet, including a map of the whole complex that the rescue Jumper had very helpfully created, along with the exact co-ordinates of the room where Rodney had been found.

Even a small child with only a basic grasp in reading would've been able to find it. So Rodney had probably been there for quite some time already.

John felt strange having Lorne sitting next to him instead of a scientist. But lately, even with the different scientists they used, it still always felt wrong. The co-pilot's chair was _Rodney's_ chair. Having anyone else there made it feel like the team was missing something. Sure, it was a certain something that yammered on and on and on about everything and nothing. But Rodney also held a sharp wit, so fast that sometimes even Sheppard floundered to respond in kind. It was like the team was missing an irreplaceable part of its head and mouth and heart, and Sheppard felt uneasy on every mission they'd been on since Rodney had been incapacitated.

He glanced sideways at Lorne and the Major nodded back to him.

Teyla and Ronon sat behind and were equally ready.

John examined the HUD. "One life sign. He's not moving and he's already right where I thought he would be."

Once John had landed the Jumper next to its fellow, they exited the craft and entered the facility. Lorne stayed behind to cloak and guard the ships.

As they made their way through the facility, dull light pierced the gloom from the many cracks in the walls and ceiling. John shivered in the chilled air, but pushed onwards with the three flashlights lighting the way.

They got near to the room and John held up his fist. The others halted and he listened for a few seconds.

Silence.

Whatever Rodney was doing wasn't making any noise at all.

He whispered to the others. "Wait here. I'll need you in a minute."

John therefore went in alone. He hadn't really had time to think about what he was expecting to find. But as he rounded the corner, several images crossed his mind: that he would find Rodney gone insane and smashing the place up; or that Rodney would hurt himself… perhaps had already hurt himself; or maybe he would find Rodney scrunched up into a tight ball of misery, holding onto himself and sobbing in the corner.

Therefore what John did find was unexpected.

Rodney was standing calmly in the middle of the room, looking down at the metal table still stained dark brown with long-dried blood. John waited in the doorway for Rodney to notice him, and watched as he slowly walked over to one of the damp walls and ran his hand along it briefly. John felt uncomfortable at this sedate and calm version of Rodney. It was eerie that in this place he could be this way.

Rodney turned around and his eyes flickered up and met John's. He stopped like an animal caught in the headlights.

John glanced around the room and only just stopped his grimace. "Hey, Rodney. What are you doing back here?"

Rodney looked away, turned and then rested his back on the wall so that he was facing towards the torture table, which still had the metal straps hooked through it, soaked in his own blood.

John stepped further into the room and said, "If I knew you wanted to go offworld this badly, I would've sent you out already."

He tried to speak lightly, but merely earned himself a glare from Rodney, just before the scientist allowed his body to relax and he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold concrete floor with his legs stretched out.

Rodney glanced at the dark brown smears on the table and surrounding floor and asked, "Is this where…?"

John kept his distance. Close enough to jump in if Rodney did something crazy, far enough away so that Rodney could deal on his own if he wanted to.

Rodney spoke again. "She said I needed to confront what I fear the most."

"Heightmeyer?"

"That to do so would help me on the way to recovering what I've lost."

John went over and sat down on the floor next to Rodney, shivering as the icy chill instantly seeped through his clothes from the floor and wall. He bumped shoulders with his friend and said, "You haven't lost anything, Rodney."

But the man only huffed sadly and looked down at his hands in his lap. "Only a kidney, my spleen, my skin and a hell of a lot of blood which is still liberally scattered around this room."

John remained silent with no argument he could provide against that. Instead he waited for a few more minutes and then asked very quietly, "And what do you fear the most?"

Rodney closed his eyes and spoke so softly that John could barely hear him, "Being left alone. Abandoned. Going back to how I used to be; aggressive and defensive."

John knew that he had been pushing it with that question, and hadn't really been expecting an answer. Rodney may well have been veiling more secret fears, but what he revealed was more than enough, and for John to ask any more of him would be to pry and forget his place as a friend.

He consoled Rodney's verbalised fears in saying; "You weren't abandoned and I like aggressive and defensive! We never stopped looking. If we had, you would still bound to that table over there, or worse."

"True. But it was a very long time. Felt like forever and there was nothing… nothing I could do until you came, but lie there and hope that I was going to die soon."

"You didn't die."

"Obviously. But a part of me still wishes I had, so that I wouldn't have had to have gone through all this crap… put you all through this crap for the past few months."

"It's no problem, Rodney. I've had worse from higher ranks in the past. Drill Sergeants and the like, and for way longer than months too."

Rodney's voice lowered as he said, "I'm sorry for what's happened and how angry I've been. I was here for too long on my own."

"Well, we came for you again today didn't we? Just like we did before. Even though you've been a bit off your game lately, you're still a genius, right?"

"I know. It's just… Michael and his new hybrids are long gone and I don't have anyone else to take it out on."

"I thought as much, which is why I don't care how much you shout at me, how scathing your comments have been, I'm not going anywhere."

Rodney blinked and glanced across at him. "Thanks." He suddenly smiled, the expression like a dazzling sun shining out and piercing the darkness, sending the evil that had happened in that room of horror back to where it belonged. The mirth transferred to his voice as he said, "And I'm sorry for being such an ass. It's been difficult."

John nudged his shoulder again and Rodney bumped right back this time.

John grinned and asked, "You think you'll be better now? Come back with me? Stop reducing everyone in the science department to tears and wishes of murder?"

"Hmm, no promises about the last one."

"You do realise that Michael is already dead, right? The moment that sneaky, evil son of a bitch gets to within a light year of me, his number's up."

"Yes, I just wish he wasn't still out there somewhere, no doubt torturing and converting people who have no chance of being rescued."

"We'll find him eventually. The galaxy may be big, but he won't stay hidden for long."

John called Ronon and Teyla and they stood in the doorway cautiously, just as John himself had done a few minutes ago. They both looked relieved to see that Rodney hadn't broken down.

Teyla gave John a small smile and then looked down at Rodney where they both still sat side by side on the floor. She said sincerely, "I am glad we were able to find you so quickly. You would be greatly missed."

Ronon mumbled, "What she said."

John suddenly sprang up onto his feet and reached out towards his friend where he sat on the ground in the hated room. Teyla and Ronon approached and stood on either side of him looking down kindly at Rodney.

John asked, "So how about going offworld with the team again? We really need you. The scientists in your department are smart, but none of them are a patch on _you_."

Rodney couldn't help but smile at that.

John leant further forwards and offered Rodney his hand as he asked, "Are you ready to go back to Atlantis now?"

"Yes," Rodney replied without hesitation. He glanced around and then grabbed the hand John held out to him and allowed himself to be pulled back onto his feet. Ronon patted him on the back and Teyla took his hand in both of hers and gently squeezed. Rodney looked John in the eye, his confidence firmly back in place even in the midst of the horror of what had happened to him in the very room where they all stood together in support.

"Yes, I am."

---------------

_Fin._

_A/N - As always, thank you for reading! I know it took me a lot longer than usual to finish this one, but that's because of Chevron and also because I've now gone back to the time sapping horror of the six day week. *hugs my only day off* So thanks for sticking with it! I'm going to finish my Chevron convention report (on LiveJournal) and then write some nice relaxing physical whump!fic for Rodney :)_


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